


Stop Playing Around

by Helena_Hathaway



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Frerard, Hate to Love, Humor, INDEFINITE HIATUS, Implied Parental Abuse, Love/Hate, M/M, Rags to Riches, Riches to Rags, Sexual Content, Some Humor, Wealth, asshole!Frank, eventual non-asshole!Frank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a story of riches to rags. Frank is the rich guy, and Gerard is on the other end of the spectrum. Gerard has little respect for Frank, and the same can be said about Frank vice versa. So what happens when Frank’s wealth turns to dirt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard has a horrible job.

_“It is good to be rich, and anyone who says otherwise has never experienced being rich. I think that money can solve all the problems in the world, and the problems that it can’t solve have yet to be invented._

_When you think about it, everything revolves around money. Our current government, wars, and all this other stuff that I don’t really care about. I mean you need money to eat and shit, right? You’ve got to pay for stuff, and it’s so much easier for everyone if you’ve just got a lot of it. Well, I don’t really care how much money you have, it’s the number in my bank account that I worry about._

_It’s not that I dislike poor people or anything, I just don’t really understand them. Why would you ever choose to be poor when you can be rich? Being poor is gross. Like, c’mon, just get a better job and a nice haircut, stop complaining about minimum wage or whatever it is poor people complain about. You want more money? Get a better degree, idiot! That’s not anyone’s fault but your own, if you’re underqualified for whatever the shit you’re trying to get a job for.”_

At these words, Gerard closes the tab and tries to stop himself from gagging. Some people are so ignorant that they wouldn’t understand logic if they were hit over the head repeatedly with it. Or maybe just hit repeatedly over the head with a rock. Sometimes, Gerard really wants to hit people over the head with a rock, usually people like the dickhead who is in charge of that blog.

It’s not that Gerard dislikes rich people or anything, he just doesn’t really understand them. In a completely different way than the douche who runs that blog that just gave Gerard shivers. He doesn’t really understand how being rich can completely nullify you to human emotions. That just doesn’t seem to make any sense to him, because they still are humans, they’re just really shitty humans. Not all of them necessary, Gerard is overgeneralizing, and he knows that, but quite a few of them are at least kind of shitty human beings. Mr. Blog runner seems to fall under the category of total ass-hat, so Gerard has at least one example for his data set.

It’s not like he’s researching this for anyone, he just likes reading about other idiots to make himself feel better. It does help, quite a bit actually, because what a fucking twat. How could anyone ever be like that? It’s despicable! Gerard gets that it’s another way of life, one that he’s not accustomed to, but still.

Actually, Gerard is rather familiar with the life, though it’s not his own. His boss’s life is one of those ‘lift a finger and I can have your mother’s childhood’s best friend arrested’ sort of people. Technically the guy did have to work for it, so he’s no stranger to hard work, but his son is another story. The guy’s son is a fucking dick. Apparently it’s okay to pick on ‘the help’ because they are more acquainted with actual skill then you are. The kid can’t work a coffee machine, and yet has the nerve to make fun of Gerard when he has to make his father coffee.

Being the personal assistant of a multimillionaire has its perks. It does pay better than working at Subway, but it’s also much more arduous. To Gerard’s boss ‘personal assistant’ means ‘private slave.’ Gerard may be a little melodramatic, and by a little he’s _extremely_ melodramatic, but it’s not fun getting calls at three in the morning from your boss because he left his phone downstairs and is too lazy to go retrieve it himself. That happened once. Gerard was literally woken up in the middle of the night by his boss who had left his phone, in the hallway downstairs. Gerard was half way across town in bed, and it was the middle of the fucking night. The guy has six different cellphones as well! He’s got a work phone, an ex-wife number one phone, an ex-wife number two phone, a lawyer phone, a Gerard-I-need-you-right-the-fuck-now phone, and a ghost phone for when he needs to take those ‘secret calls.’

Needless to say, Gerard really hates his boss, and his boss’s kid. He doesn’t mind the other staff at his boss’s house though, they’re all fairly nice. The maids, of which there are three, are pretty cool, even though they get picked on by the boss’s son. The chef and his staff, because rich people apparently need private chefs who each have a kitchen staff of four people, are pretty cool. Gerard is treated like vermin only by his employer, and employer’s son.

You’d think, given the fact that Gerard’s boss’s son runs around the house in his boxers all day like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, that he’s a little kid, but no. No, he’s Gerard’s age. Never worked a goddamn day in his life, and yet he lives the life of luxury. He probably had the nanny do his homework for him in school.

Gerard’s work hours are anywhere between twelve in the morning to twelve in the morning of the next day. Basically he’s on call 24/7. Usually Gerard gets home by around midnight after accommodating to his boss’s every will, and usually he wakes up at seven, but sometimes he never even gets to go home. Sometimes he’s forced to cater to video game parties that the boss’s son hosts. Apparently, being the personal assistant to his dad makes Gerard his personal assistant as well. It’s not like he can really refuse, and be fired for upsetting his boss’s son.

The work hours for this particular torrentially pouring day, happen to be pushing on illegal. It’s Gerard’s 15th hour at work, and the time is approximately six p.m. The date is precisely April 9th, and yes, Gerard is working on his birthday. He’s gotten a few minutes break to himself, though he’s still standing right outside his boss’s office, and he uses it to scroll the internet tiredly. The blog repulses him, but at least he feels better about his own personality after reading only half of the page.

A few minutes later, as Gerard is in that vicinity of the house, one of his better friends on the staff comes up to him.

“A little birdie said that today is your birthday,” says one of the kitchen staff, a relatively short guy named Pete.

“Tell Tweety to fuck off, because the Paris Hilton wannabe is allergic to fucking everything,” Gerard replies.

“Is it your birthday?” Pete asks.

“For another six hours,” Gerard replies.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? How long have you been here now? 12 hours?”

“Try fifteen,” Gerard replies.

“Oh god, and on your birthday?”

“Well yeah,” Gerard answers, “And I was supposed to meet my roommate, brother, and a few other people to celebrate at seven, but it looks like that’s out the window.”

“Aw come on bro, you can still make it!” Pete says, though he doesn’t believe the words himself, “you’ve still got, like, a little time, you could go!”

“What, and go ask the boss if I can leave early? He would laugh right in my face, Pete. If I just leave, then he’ll fire my ass on the spot, and what a birthday present that would be! Face it, I’m working until he lets me leave.”

“But-”

“Just leave it, man,” Gerard says, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find a misplaced IRS statement.”

“Oh god, that doesn’t sound like fun,” Pete says.

“It’s even less fun then you think it is,” Gerard replies, and goes off to find a single document in a giant mansion full of them.

A few minutes later, Gerard is making his way back around the house, still in search of a piece of paper that is probably somewhere in his boss’s desk. He tried suggesting to the guy that he might want to look through his desk first, but Gerard is not allowed to look through his boss’s desk, and his boss is far too lazy to do so. This means that Gerard has to wait until his boss has to use the bathroom or something, and then search his desk so that he can say he found the fucking IRS statement. He won’t have to lie, because his boss doesn’t care where he found it, as long as he did find it.

Pete ambushes him near the door to the kitchen when Gerard walks by. He holds out a sorry excuse for a birthday cake in the form of, what appears to be, a brick house shaped glob of old Halloween candy or something.

“If you aren’t going to get a birthday cake or celebration, I at least want you to get diabetes,” Pete says, holding it out to him.

“Oh god, did you make this yourself?” Gerard asks.

“I did indeed, can you tell how good my cake decorating skills are?” Pete asks.

“Oh my, you should be a pastry chef,” Gerard answers sarcastically, “but really though I appreciate it. I actually have to go and talk to Satan, but I’ll be back in a few, hopefully.”

“Do you want me to hold onto it then?” Pete says, looking at his sorry excuse of a confection, resting on a pristine white, and probably exceedingly expensive, plate.

“Yeah, but you better not have any. It’s stupid looking, but I’m starving, and I like sweet things,” Gerard says, already walking off a little bit, but still looking at Pete.

“Oh you like sweet things do you?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Gerard calls back, turning around to look where he’s going.

“I wouldn’t dream of it! Tell them that dinner is ready though, would’ya!” Pete calls.

“Will do!”

The house is big, but it ain’t no Buckingham Palace. There’s three floors, a bunch of rooms, and if you don’t know your way round, you could conceivably get lost for a minute or two, but it’s not that bad. Gerard learned the ropes pretty much on his second day, which was about three years ago. He’s a good assistant, don’t let his hatred for the job fool you.

Gerard unfortunately stumbles into the boss’s kid, he likes to call him ‘Satan’s spawn,’ because his father, otherwise known as Satan, doesn’t put a leash on the boy.

“Watch where you’re going,” Satan’s spawn says when he intentionally bumps himself into Gerard.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard says, because you don’t talk back, that’s rule number one. Rule number one is not to talk back. Rule number two is don’t touch the boss’s desk, which Gerard has to break almost daily. The rest of the rules are more profound, but uninteresting.

“You _should_ be fucking sorry,” he says, and then walks on down the hallway. Gerard pities Pete and the rest of the kitchen staff because he’s heading their way. He wishes he didn’t have to wait an hour to eat dinner, but he’s not allowed to eat with his boss, and he wouldn’t want to anyway. Usually he gets the leftovers from the kitchen and has a twenty minute break to talk with the rest of the staff, but he won’t have the opportunity for another hour, or as long as it takes for the family of Satan’s to eat.

Gerard walks up a flight of stairs, peering into Satan’s spawns room. He’s so tempted to put a glass of rotten milk under the kid’s bed so he starts to smell it in the middle of the night. The trouble is in the fact that, while he is a rich kid, he does keep his room pretty clean, and it’s not because of the maids. He’s just a neat person. In cleanliness, not in personality. His personality is like a wet blanket.

Gerard finds his boss’s office on the other side of the second story and he knocks on the door.

“Have you found my statement or what?” Satan asks.

“No sir,” Gerard says, “but dinner is ready and waiting.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, getting up from his desk, “but look for that statement while I’m gone. If you can find it by the time I get back, I’ll let you leave early.”

“Are you serious?” Gerard asks, trying to hide the fact that the idea excites him.

“Yes, but I doubt you’ll find it, being such an incompetent fool as you are,” Satan says, and Gerard mentally flips the guy off. Gerard doesn’t say anything in response to the insult, because he’s making that up. Gerard is a fantastic assistant, but his boss only counts how much he messes up rather than how much he doesn’t. 

“I understand,” Gerard says, “thank you, Mr. Iero.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill, do you want more or no? Promising or blagh?


	2. But It Gets Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for Gerard just writing this. Poor guy.

“Hey Pete,” Gerard says, peaking his head into the kitchen.

“Hola,” Pete says walking up to him. “You find that ever important whatever the hell it was?”

“Yeah, I did. So Satan let me off,” Gerard says.

“What? Hey, good for you!”

“Yeah, but if you see him fuming or anything, call me right away, okay?” 

Pete nods, “will do.”

Gerard smiles, “and when do you get to leave?”

“Depends. If I have to stay to make some shitty dessert then it could be another couple of hours, but otherwise it’ll be sometime in the next hour.”

“You going to use your already blossoming baking skills?” Gerard asks, with a grin.

“Hey,” Pete says defensively, “so what if I’m not good at making a cupcake or two. I am fantastic at chopping things up and using a blowtorch.”

“So you’re a fan of Crème brûlée.”

“I’m a fan of the part where I get to use a blowtorch,” Pete replies.

“Ah, so you’d be a big fan of murdering people. You can combine both your love of chopping and blowtorching.”

Pete snorts, “shh, don’t let other people find out my secrets!”

“Yeah, whatever. Well, if you get off sometime soon then you should come out. After all my birthday is of extreme importance,” Gerard says.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Well my brother is going to be there, but call it what you will,” Gerard says smiling, and Pete laughs.

“I’m kidding man, but if I can make it I definitely will,” Pete says, and then someone in the kitchen calls his name. “Gotta go.”

“Yeah, well either way, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gerard says, to which Pete responds with a groan. He stomps off back to the kitchen leaving Gerard to roll his eyes and walk over to the front door.

He manages to escape coming upon Satan’s spawn, who is usually walking around the house randomly at this hour. Gerard grabs his jacket, and then walks out into the rain without any interference.

Gerard checks his watch as he walks down the street. He’s being pelted by rain, so there’s no chance he’ll be able to get a cab in this weather. It’s the kind of rain that comes with wind free of charge, so there’s no escaping it. His hood blows off of him a few times out as he rushes down the pavement.

Gerard’s phone rings sometime when he’s still a few block away from the nearest subway stop, and he has to ignore it because there’s no way he’ll hear a word over the phone in this weather. They call again, causing Gerard to swear at his phone, and catch the attention of someone else on the street. To be honest it’s so windy and blurry that he couldn’t tell there was a person there, but he apologizes anyway.

Gerard ducks under the umbrella in front of a store to check whose calling, but the screen is blurry from the water. He can’t even see it, so he just decides to make a run for the subway.

When he finally makes to the subway stop, which is thankfully dry, he looks at is phone again, and tries to scrub the surface clean. The train isn’t there so he has time to call whoever it was back.

Mikey called him twice so he calls, and he picks up on the first ring.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Is that anyway to greet me on my birthday?” Gerard asks.

“Where the fuck are you, please?”

“That makes no sense. Why would you put a ‘please’ at the end of that?”

“I didn’t know what else to say and still sound cynical,” Mikey says, “but seriously. Where are you?”

“God, you’re annoying. I will be there soon, okay? I just got off work-”

“You _just_ got off work?” Mikey asks, “Brendon said that you went in at three in the morning.”

“You don’t know what my job is like though. It’s shitty, but I’ll be there soon. The train is coming so, just give me half an hour.”

“We’ve already been waiting half an hour for you,” Mikey groans.

“Well wait another half hour.”

“Fuck you,” Mikey says.

“And on my birthday,” Gerard says.

“You played that card already, you can’t do it again.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, “but it’s still true!”

“Just get here soon,” Mikey says and then hangs up.

“Love you too bro,” Gerard says to the dead line. He pushes his hair up, and out of his eyes.

The phone rings again seconds after he gets off of it with Mikey though, and Gerard groans.

He answers, expecting it to be Mikey who forgot to mention something else, but instead it’s Pete.

“Hey, Gerard, you um, you’re wanted back here.”

“I’m what?” Gerard groans, not necessarily surprised.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Pete says.

“It’s not your fault,” Gerard replies, turning around to start walking back to the house. A few people look at him funny for walking back out into the rain, but he really doesn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, man. I tried telling him that you’d already left, and I tried to tell him that it’s your birthday, but he wouldn’t listen. He doesn’t care that you have friends waiting for you he just cares that you book him a hotel or something,” Pete says.

“A hotel?” Gerard asks, pausing. “I can do that without coming back.”

“He just said ‘get Gerard back here within the hour or he’s fired.’ I decided not to argue.”

“I’m coming,” Gerard hangs up his phone, and runs back up the steps, out into the rain, and off down the sidewalk. The weather is frightful, and it’s not even unlikely for Gerard to get hit by a car in this, because he can barely tell where the sidewalk is. He runs back in record time though, because Gerard doesn’t want to lose his job.

When he steps back into the house, absolutely soaked from head to toe, he throws his jacket on a coat hanger and runs to the kitchen.

“I need a change of clothes,” Gerard says dripping onto the floor.

One of the other kitchen staff, a guy named Spencer, evaluates him and says, “I can get you a shirt, possibly pants, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to find you shoes.”

“I need them within the next five minutes or I’m not going to have a job,” Gerard says. Rule number 22 is that no one is allowed to trail water around the house. 

A few seconds later, he’s being thrown one of the many sets of spare clothes that they keep here for reasons like this. He doesn’t really have time to waste in changing in private, so he hides in the pantry.

“Shoes?” Pete asks, coming into the room just as Gerard finishes.

“No luck,” Gerard says.

“What size?”

“Bigger than whatever you wear,” Gerard says. “What’s that say about me?”

“I’m not going to go there,” Pete says, and he starts taking his shoes off, “it doesn’t matter if they fit, just cram your feet in there, and hope that he doesn’t need you for a long time.”

“Thank you,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, just hurry up,” Pete says, pushing Gerard out the doorway.

He rushes up the stairs, nearly tripping on a few steps until he finally gets upstairs and knocks on Satan’s office door.

“H-hello sir,” Gerard says, out of breath from running through the entire house.

“What took you so long?”

“You told me I could leave if I found that statement, and I did. You said I could leave.”

“I don’t recall that,” he answers, and Gerard’s heart falls a little bit. He never remembers things that he finds inconvenient.

“What did you need sir?”

“I need you to write the speech I’m giving at that business conference,” he says. “I also need you to book the flight, hotel room, and I’m going to need a car.”

Gerard’s heart falls a million times further than it had a minute ago. That’s going to take him _days_. The _best_ part about it though, is that the speech that needs to be written, which is going to need days to be written, has to be done by tomorrow morning. 

“Don’t you think that it would be more beneficial for you to write the speech yourself?” Gerard asks, like he does every time. He’s written several dozen speeches for the guy, because he may own some giant company, but he doesn’t do anything in it. Gerard runs the damn thing more so than Satan does.

“I gave you an instruction,” he says, and he hands Gerard a folder with all the information that he needs to include in the speech. It also holds all the conference information.

“Right, I’m sorry. I’ll call you with your flight time later tonight,” Gerard says, opening it up to look at the times. He can hardly believe he forgot that there was a conference but he’s decided not to kick himself over it.

“I don’t want to leave any time before noon,” he says.

“But the conference is in LA, and you need to give your speech by two,” Gerard says.

“So?”

“Well the flight itself is going to be about five hours. If you leave by noon then you’re not going to get there until well after the time you need to give your speech,” Gerard says.

“Ugh, can you make the flight shorter?”

“No sir, that’s impossible,” Gerard states.

“Then make it as late as you can get,” he says.

“But I don’t control the times when planes leave, nor can I guarantee that you’ll make it to the conference in time,” Gerard says, “and the weather could cause delays, so you might get held up at the airport.”

“Did I _ask_ you if you could do it?”

“No sir, you didn’t.”

“Then do it,” he says.

“Right, I’m sorry,” Gerard replies. “Are you going to need me to accompany you at the conference?”

“Who else is going to hold my coffee?” he retorts, and Gerard nods then starts to walk out of the room, before Satan calls him back.

“My son wants you to get him some movie,” he says.

Gerard wants to just die right here and now, because he doesn’t have the _time_ to get a movie. He doesn’t have the _time_ to make a hotel reservation. He doesn’t have the _time_ to book a flight. He doesn’t have the _time_ to write a speech.

“What movie?” Gerard asks through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know, just get it,” he says, and Gerard nods then turns to leave.

“Okay,” Gerard says, and he runs out of the room before Satan can ask for anything else. Gerard is tempted to chuck the folder in his hands off a balcony, or just chuck himself off the damn balcony, but he decides against it.

He swings around to the side of the house where Satan’s spawn lives, and knocks on the door dejectedly.

“What?” a voice snaps, and Gerard pushes the door open.

“Frank, your dad said you wanted a movie, but he didn’t tell me which one.”

“A movie? No, my PlayStation broke, I need a new one,” he says.

“Do you need it tonight?” Gerard asks, because he seems perfectly content playing whatever the fuck he’s playing on his phone.

“Yeah,” he replies like it’s obvious.

“Alright,” Gerard sighs, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“See what you can do? No you’re going to-”

“Do what you tell me to do, I know.”

“Don’t sass me,” he says.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can,” Gerard turns to leave, and then walks down the stairs hurriedly. It looks like he won’t be making it to his own birthday party after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is easy to write so far. First few chapters of a fic always are, but still. I think I like it.


	3. Who Needs A Two Weeks Notice When You Have A Flare For the Dramatics?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably a record number usage of the word ‘fucking’ in this chapter.

“What’d he need?” Pete asks.

“Would you mind if I just, like, take some counter and cry for a little bit?” Gerard asks, grabbing a stool and leaning on the kitchen counter. He kicks Pete’s shoes off into his direction and Pete nods his thanks.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Pete says. “You okay?”

“No, I wasn’t kidding. Gimme a few minutes,” Gerard says folding his face into his arms, after he takes his seat in his usual counter space.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Would you buy the kid a PlayStation?” Gerard asks, muffled by his arms.

“Can you even buy a PlayStation at seven at night?”

“It’d better be possible, or I’ll get reprimanded. Or fired, you never know,” Gerard answers. “I don’t want to do this Pete. I don’t want to write a fucking speech, and I don’t want to follow that bitch around Los Angeles with a coffee and a cheat sheet with the names of all his coworkers. I don’t want this fucking job, but I don’t want to be fired.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I need an income! It’s my fucking birthday, I don’t want to be fired on my birthday,” Gerard exclaims, “Just give me a few minutes. I need to sort myself out, so that I can make it through my next all-nighter.”

“Gerard, it’s really not healthy to go _one_ day without sleep, how can you expect to make it two days?”

“What do you mean by two days?” Gerard asks, looking at Pete like he’s lost, “I have to write this speech which will put me at two, and then I have to go to a fucking business conference for the weekend. That’s four days, Pete. That’s four days of no sleep.”

“You can’t do this to yourself. Sooner or later you’re going to run out of steam, and it’s all going to come crashing down around you,” Pete says.

“I have put three fucking years into this job. Three years. I am not going to let that turn to dust because I’m having a bad week.”

“A bad week implies that it’s only seven days. Seven days does not cover the length of how long you’ve been in hell.”

“I just, gah,” Gerard says, ruffling his hair, and trying to focus his eyes. He’s starting to feel the sleepiness in his limbs. His arms and legs both feel like they’re pulsing, but at the same time they’re numb. His head is banging with one of his many stress induced headaches. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t have a headache.

“I’m so sorry man,” Pete says, “The kid wants a what? A PlayStation? I’ll go try to find you one, relieve some of the weight you’re going through.”

“No you don’t have to.”

“It’s my birthday present to you,” Pete says.

Gerard sighs, “I can’t even tell you how much that means to me, Pete. Thank you so much. I still have to write a fucking enormous speech, but this does help.”

“No problem,” Pete says, taking the credit card Gerard hands him. It’s all Mr. Iero’s money, but Gerard is the one who has to buy just about everything that enters the house. Sometimes he’s tempted to just buy a fucking beluga whale and put it in the bathtub. Pete gives him another empathetic stare before he saunters out of the kitchen.

Gerard actually does stick his head further in his arms for about five minutes, trying to get the frustration to go away. Sometimes you have to cry to help you sort out your thoughts. Or at least, Gerard tells himself that. It’s pretty much unsuccessful, and all it does is cause him to become even more tired. He does eventually pull himself up, and shake it off. The rest of the kitchen staff have all begun to start packing things up for the night, and they’re trying their best not to bother Gerard. 

Since Gerard has no real office, the kitchen counter on the right side of the room has informally been given to him. No one ever questions it, because they know that Gerard works harder than anyone else in the fucking house.

Gerard gets started on working on Satan’s speech, spewing off shit about things he doesn’t care about. He has to write it on paper, because his boss refuses to buy printer ink. For some reason, Satan got into a debacle with the head of a printing company several years ago, and ever since then, he refuses to buy ink, making his printer pretty much useless. Gerard has tried in the past to explain that there are different brands of ink, but he won’t listen. Because of this, Gerard starts handwriting the rough draft of the speech.

It’s at least half an hour later when Gerard’s phone rings and he groans long and outwardly. Gerard does however retrieve the phone from his pocket and picks it up.

“Gerard where are you?” Mikey asks.

“Hey man, it looks like I’m not going to make it,” Gerard says.

“What? Did the trains stop working? Did you fall into a giant hole? Are you in Belgium? Those are the only acceptable reasons for why you’re not here.”

“No I’m at work,” Gerard says.

“But you said you got off!” Mikey complains.

“I know, and I did, but I got called back in. I’m sorry that I can’t make it. I really am, you have no idea what I would give to be there instead of here.”

“Why can’t you just tell him you’ve got to go?” Mikey asks.

“Because he’s my boss, and I can’t do that,” Gerard says, “You just have to face it.”

“Well, that sucks. It really sucks. I guess it helps that you don’t have any friends anymore since you got this job, so there’s not that many people to disappoint.”

“Please, Mikes, would you not rub it in? I’m pretty miserable right now. I know I don’t have any friends. I know I don’t have a life. You don’t need to tell me, I’ve got it. I am acutely aware of how I’ve driven everyone away, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry!” Gerard says angrily.

“Whoa, just calm down, Gee,” Mikey says.

“Calm down? Mikey, I haven’t been calm in three fucking years! I am literally suffocating. This fucking job is fucking shit, and I hate my fucking boss, and my fucking boss’s kid. I just hate it. I hate it so fucking much, and I don’t need you to fucking shove it in my fucking face, okay?”

“Gerard! I’m not mad, just calm down, we’ll reschedule for tomorrow or the weekend-”

“Except you fucking can’t, because I have to go to LA and follow my boss around with a mug of coffee that he’s not going to fucking drink. I have to watch him butcher the speech that I have to write for him that’s going to take me twelve hours to fucking write for him. So no, Mikey, I can’t reschedule. I can’t do anything at fucking all, because I have the worst fucking job in the world!” Gerard screams into the phone. 

Honestly the rest of the kitchen staff aren’t even surprised by his mental breakdown. It’s happened to all of them at least a few times, so it’s nothing new. They just hear Gerard screaming, on the verge of tears, and just pity the guy because they know exactly what he is going through, except not maybe to the same extent. They all have hard jobs, but it’s literally nothing compared to Gerard’s.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I’m really not, Mikey. I feel like I’m going to drown, and it’s because of this stupid job. I hate it so much.”

“Just breathe in and out, man. You’ll make it through this. It’s all fine,” Mikey says, and Gerard makes a squealing sound of irritation.

“Do not treat me like I am a child, Mikey!” Gerard says. “I will get off of work for about two hours hopefully sometime in a week. Then I’ll get called back in, and it’ll be fucking hell. Do not even think about making fun of me for this, okay? You have no idea what shit I have to put up with on a daily basis, and I am not going to hear it from you too, okay? Yes, I know that everyone I know fucking hates me, because I’m a workaholic, and I know that we’ve barely talked in three years, and I know that I’m an irresponsible, negligent piece of shit. You don’t have to tell me, Mikey. I know. I know perfectly well, I hear it every day.”

“I wasn’t even going to say that! Gerard, would you stop yelling at me, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I’m just really worried about what this job is doing to you,” he says.

“Oh great, I’ll add your name, name number 635, to the list of people who think Gerard has the worst job in the entire world. It’s really nice to hear, thanks Mikey.”

“Okay, I’m not going to take anything you say to heart because I know you’re stressed out right now, Gee, but you need to stop and breathe. Stop and ask yourself if this is worth it, okay?”

“Please don’t tell me to think it through. Mikey, everything you say is a cliché that I’ve heard a thousand times. I know. I know, and I’m so sick of being pestered by it that it’s making my hair fall out,” Gerard says, and as if to exemplify how stressed he is, he actually does pull a small chunk of hair out from the back of his head. If that keeps up he’ll be bald before he’s thirty. It’s not like it’s never happened before, but only in the most recent months has it been a real problem.

At this Pete steps in holding a box, and smiling. “Couldn’t believe they had one, but they did! Here you go, Gerard.”

“Thank fucking god,” Gerard says, letting Pete set it down in front of him, “Pete you are a lifesaver.” 

“Nah man,” Pete waves his words off absently.

“Mikey, I’ll talk to you later. Have fun without me, okay? Just because I’m not there, doesn’t mean you can’t party on my behalf,” Gerard says, trying to calm himself down, a little bit.

“Yeah, alright. We are going to postpone though,” Mikey replies.

“I don’t know if that’s going to be possible, because I never fucking have free time. I have to go now,” Gerard states, “tell everyone I’m sorry and that I say hi.”

“Okay,” Mikey says somberly, and Gerard hangs up.

“Thank you so fucking much, Pete,” Gerard says, picking the box up. It’s not small enough to hold in one hand, but he can tuck it in with an elbow and keep it aloft using just the one arm.

“Don’t mention it. You needed to be treated like a human at least once today.”

Gerard is so close to hugging the man, but Pete was just out in the rain as made obvious by his wet clothes, so he decides against it. The kitchen is the only place in the house that the Satan’s never enter. It’s because apparently the kitchen is unclean, and should be left behind the scenes. This just means that the staff can get away with dripping onto the floor or making a few messes, as long as they clean it up later. That’s usually the way it works, because they’re all a big team, unless you’re having a really rough day, in which case you’re pardoned from the responsibility. So Monday through Sunday for Gerard usually, he has no obligation to clean up messes, but he usually does anyway.

Gerard rushes up the stairs and knocks on Satan’s spawn’s door again. Frank doesn’t even look up when Gerard pushes it open slightly. He’s switched from his phone to his laptop and is now typing away at something with his feet hanging off his bed. Gerard’s almost surprised that the devil child can read or write at all. It’s not that he’s ever displayed any sort of unthinkable stupidity in front of Gerard, he just assumes that about the guy based on his personality. Gerard doesn’t know how smart the kid is, and he doesn’t care either.

“Frank, I got you your-”

“It took you long enough, set it up will you,” He says, but there’s no question in it. It’s a demand.

“Would you say thank you at least?” Gerard asks.

“Why? For doing your job?” he asks.

“My job description is not to pamper you’re scrawny little ass all day. My job is to assist your father, not you, Frank,” Gerard snaps at him, and surprisingly he doesn’t even feel regretful. The kid needs to be talked to like that, but since he’s a rich little gremlin child, he never has been.

“Excuse me?” Frank says, turning to look at Gerard. He’s probably not used to being insulted, and he doesn’t seem to like it.

“I did something inconvenient for you, on today of all days, and I deserve a thank you,” Gerard says forcefully.

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like-”

Gerard fucking explodes at this, “don’t you dare say that to me, Frank. Don’t you dare fucking insult the way I talk to you. I am a human being, I deserve to be treated with respect, and you are not going to be held on a different standard then me.”

“Watch your-”

“You watch your fucking mouth! For all the time I have known you, I have been nothing but polite. I have been courteous, and done what you asked. I have treated you respectfully. You are the most uncivil, despicable person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting, and I will not put up with this anymore. I’ve had it up to fucking here with your horrendous behavior. Do you know where I’d be if I acted like you? I’d be in a fucking homeless shelter asking for more bread. I have never met anyone who was more cavalier with their impertinent conduct. They’re called manners, Frank. Learn them.”

“Are you actually-”

Gerard interrupts him yet again, “yes I am actually saying this! I do a lot of things for you, kid. I do _everything_ for you. All I’m asking is for a fucking please and thank you. Not a sarcastic thanks, not an occasional please, I want you to say please and thank you like you fucking mean it. I want you to say please when you ask for stuff, and thanks when you receive what you’ve asked for. That’s it. That’s all I fucking want.”

“In case you haven’t forgotten,” Frank says condescendingly, “my dad is your boss which means I treat you how I want, and you do what I say.”

Gerard sees red, and if he’d lost it before, it’s nothing to what it is now.

“I’ve been biting my tongue for so long now, I can’t believe it hasn’t fallen out of my mouth. There are so many thousands of things I want to say to you, Frank, and my stunning array of vocabulary would probably send your shriveled little empty brain into a coma. I know some colorful words, Frank, most of them are four letters, and every single one of them describes you.”

“I’m going to tell my dad about this.”

“Oh really now? You’re going to run and tell daddy about how his assistant had the nerve to tell you the truth about you? Are you actually Draco Malfoy? A spoiled little rich kid who has everything handed to him on a silver platter? You are shit at being a human being, Frank. Utter shit,” Gerard says, standing in the exact same spot in the doorframe the whole time. He hasn’t moved at all except to try and gesticulate to Frank how moronic he is.

“It’s not my fault that you’re incompetent,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t know how that’s relevant. When was that a topic of conversation between them? Well a few times, but when in the last few minutes?

“Has it ever occurred to you that some people have to work for a living, Frank? You can’t do anything that I do for you and your dad. You can’t do fucking shit, which is why you are a twenty year old man living with his father! You’re a fucking idiot, Frank. I have to work for a living. I have to order your father a venti non-fat soy cappuccino, one shot espresso, double shot vanilla syrup, one and a half shot hazelnut syrup, no cream, with half the foam, double the whip cream, at precisely 117 degrees, no not 118 degrees and absolutely not 116, _every goddamn day_. Do you know how hard it is to get a coffee that specific from the Starbucks to here? If it changes temperatures between the ten minute walk from there to here? Do you know what happens if even the slightest thing is off, Frank? I have to go get another one! Could you do that? Do you really think you could do that? And that’s just a fucking coffee. It’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Frank declares.

“Oh am I? When I walk into Starbucks there’s an audible groan! Everyone in the fucking building, goes ‘oh no it’s the guy with the most complicated order in all of humanity.’ It’s not fair to me that you get to sit on your ass all day while I am working myself into the ground. I once contracted what might as well have been the black fucking plague because of how hard I had been working, and I still had to go into work. You probably don’t even know what the black plague is, because you had your whole life done for you by underpaid aliens from Cuba!” At this point Gerard is stereotyping which is something he really tries not to do, but it’s too late to take it back.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“I’m asking you to say please and thank you!” Gerard screams at him. Frank does nothing but make a contemptuous face, and leans back where he sits.

“That’s it. I’m not going to do this anymore. You’re not going to say thanks? Fine. I don’t care! Fine. I will not put up with you, and I will not put up with your fucking attitude. I quit, Frank. I fucking quit. I said I wasn’t going to get fired today, but I didn’t say a fucking thing about quitting. I quit. I quit! IquitiquitIquitIquitiquitIquit! I _quit_.”

“What?”

“Tell your dad that I quit! I quit, I fucking quit! I hate you, and I hate your dad! I hate all of you fucking Iero’s! I want you to fall off the edge of a fucking cliff, because I hate you that much! Actually, no I take that back. I want you to die slowly, and painfully, the same way that you’ve tortured me for the past three years!”

“Dude, shut-”

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up you fucking dipshit,” Gerard says, eyes wild, “I have put up with you and your stuck-up behavior for way too long. Frank Iero, you are the most pretentious, rudest, insufferable, disgusting, wretched, shit-spitting monster I have ever met. I hate you. When I say that I hate you, I don’t just mean that I hate you the way you hate that kid who steals your juice box at recess, I _hate_ you. Like, I dream of sticking pins in your eyes, and watching you scream for your mommy. I hate you in a way that is reserved for the utmost scum of humanity, which you are a prime example of.”

Frank just stares at him in silence saying nothing, while Gerard’s face turns redder and redder by the second.

“So yeah, I fucking quit. I hope you have truly, the most horrendous life that a person can possibly have, because you deserve it,” Gerard is in a rage, he probably wouldn’t say half of this if he weren’t so pissed off. He doesn’t really believe in treating people like shit, but it’s just words. It’s not like he’s going to make Frank buy him a million and one different things because his daddy said he could boss the assistant around.

Gerard takes the box in his hand with the PlayStation that Pete had gotten, shows it to Frank and then tosses it down the stairs. He feels a little guilty about it, but not enough to stop the box from tumbling down, making a rattling noise as it goes.

“That’s what I want to do to your head, Frank. You can take it out of my paycheck.”

Gerard says nothing more before he turns on his heels and stomps down the steps. He looks at the scattered pieces of a very broken PlayStation, and smiles to himself. It was a good throw.

It’s not like this was the direction he’d thought his day would be turning. Waking up at 3 am to his phone ringing, trying not to curse at his boss. Walking to work in the fucking hurricane blooming outside. Having to explain to his boss that Starbucks is not open at that time of the day, for the millionth time. Doing all the menial tasks for the most overpaid human being on the planet, and getting no recognition for it. Now he’s gone and made such a huge sacrifice, but it had felt so _good_ to swear at Frank like that. He can’t muster up the energy to repeat what he said to his boss, but he’s sure that the message will be passed on.

Gerard walks back into the kitchen where people look at him kind of strangely. Presumably, they could hear him shouting from upstairs. He grabs his wet clothes where they’re hanging on one of the hooks, and folds them over his arm.

“I’m done guys. I am absolutely done,” Gerard says as an explanation. “You’ve all been good to me, but I have had it.”

“You quit?” Pete asks, the hint of a smile appearing on his face.

“Damn right,” Gerard replies.

“Well happy birthday to you,” Spencer says.

Gerard nods, pulling on his jacket. He quickly walks back through the kitchen, making sure to drip water everywhere. He exits the house again today, leaving behind a final holler of the words, “Peace out bitches. I am out for good!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so concerned with how unpopular this seems to be, and if it stays like this, I'm going to have to kill it before it even gets out of the gate.


	4. To the Misfortune of the Iero Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hate writing summaries. God, what's the point? I don't write them because I really care, I just do it so that I'm not taunted by the blank box it leaves when I don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that anyone cares about cover art, but I like this one, it looks cool.  
> [](http://s1291.photobucket.com/user/Sexy_Bread_Tin/media/StopPlayingAround_zpsc9ab68fb.png.html)

Gerard steps into the bar, and it doesn’t take him long to see his own birthday party. Unsurprisingly, only three people showed up, and each one of them looks like a little kid who had their bike stolen. It’s likely there were more given the fact that there are more chairs at their table, but they all probably left a few hours ago. It’s nearly eight, and most people have work tomorrow. Not Gerard, of course, but they don’t know that quite yet.

“Jeez, who died?” Gerard asks, walking up to the table.

Mikey looks up in surprise, “I thought you were at work.”

“I quit,” He says smiling. It’s kind of hard not to, because it’s so invigorating. He’s unemployed, he’s not going to get paid for the last week, and he’s practically dirt poor, but god does it feel good. He’s _free_. It’s like taking a cast off your arm after several months, or like finally coming up for air after nearly drowning. It’s just the best feeling in the world to not have to worry about writing a speech, or buying a shit bunch of useless crap. No more agonizing coffee orders that make his head spin. Of all the things that Gerard had to do for the Satan’s he’s going to miss ordering coffee the least.

“You’re kidding,” Brendon says, looking like someone just told him that they’d found the lost city of gold.

“No, I’m not. I quit!”

“What made you do that?” Mikey asks, kicking a chair out for him to sit down. Gerard takes it gladly, because his legs are still numbingly tired from the many hours he’s spent awake. He’d practically skipped down the road getting here, because he just couldn’t believe he finally quit. 

It’s odd, but he’d never even considered it, and then he did it, and it was too late to take it back, so he rolled with it. Gerard is probably going to regret it in the morning, but then he’s going to remember the past three years and he really isn’t going to regret it. Job searching is not fun, especially in this economy but it’s more fun than working for Mr. Iero. Jumping into a volcano is more fun than working for Mr. Iero. Being stabbed repeatedly in the throat is more fun than working for Mr. Iero. The only thing less fun than working for Mr. Iero is being ordered around by his son.

“Dude, that’s fantastic,” Mikey says.

“I know!”

“Wait, is this the assistant job?” an older friend of his, Patrick asks. “Why did it take you so long to quit?”

“Good money,” Gerard frowns, “better than you guys make, no offense. I had to work ten times as hard for it though.”

“Your life has been The Devil Wears Prada or the past three years,” Brendon states.

“It really has been. Though I didn’t have any gay friends to help get me through it.”

“Because that’s the easiest way to get through life,” Mikey says sardonically.

“Well it would have been nice,” Gerard replies. It really would have. No life for three years also means no love life. He’d have liked a gay friend in several different senses of the term.

“But, you’re like actually, legitimately unemployed? Dude, that’s wonderful,” Brendon says, “I mean not that wonderful, because you do still have to pay rent, but it’s still great. Mentally a good thing, monetarily not so much.”

“I will find another job, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Gerard frowns.

“That’s a really strange term, and I don’t know why it has been normalized,” Brendon answers.

“But you’re not denying that you wear women’s underwear,” Gerard says.

“Because my mother told me to always tell the truth,” Brendon replies jokingly.

“I didn’t need to hear this conversation,” Mikey says putting his hands to his head. 

“But you’re, like, free!” Patrick says.

“Like a bird,” Gerard says.

“Birds are supposed to be majestic. You’re a fucking train wreck on feet,” Mikey says. Gerard kicks him under the table, and all Mikey does is scrunch up his face.

“So, you quit, but how did your boss react?”

“Well, I didn’t really quit to his face,” Gerard says, “I quit in front of Frank, because he wouldn’t say please, and I really wanted him to use his manners.”

“And Frank is?”

“My boss’s son. Rich kid who grew up on daddy’s money and hasn’t lifted a finger all his life. He’s such a fucking dick too. He goes out of his way to make my job hard, and I think he enjoys watching me suffer. You know I have a theory about him. He was the kind of kid who took a magnifying glass to the playground and burned ants on the sidewalk. He also probably pushed people out of the way to get on the slide,” Gerard replies.

“He sounds like a bed of roses,” Patrick says.

“Oh god, you know, every day for the past three years, Gerard has come home and complained about the kid every fucking day,” Brendon says.

“It’s not my fault he’s so unruly!”

“You’re unruly,” Brendon retorts.

“Who says unruly?” Mikey asks with a grimace.

“Gerard just did,” Patrick replies.

“Who asked you?” 

“I didn’t think that question was necessarily oriented to one specific person.”

“It was rhetorical,” Mikey replies.

“Your face is rhetorical,” Gerard says, “I have had an awful day. It was also a great day, but everything up until half an hour ago or so, it was awful. I just want alcohol and a pillow.”

“I would recommend you get those separately.”

“Thank you for your staggeringly obvious advice,” Gerard states monotonously.

Brendon shrugs, “Well you got like four hours of sleep so I thought maybe you’d need the reminder. Now, I’m not familiar with the ways of rich people, but do they become attached to their assistants? Are you likely to be offered a raise in exchange for your job back?”

“Let’s hope not. If he does offer, I’m going to decline. I don’t need that in my life anymore. From now on, I’m going to put this job behind me. I doubt it anyway. You should have seen how I yelled at Frank. I think I made the kid shit his pants.”

“Yes, well you are really passionate about your please and thank you,” Mikey says, “that’s why you refused to say either of those terms for the first fifteen years of your life.”

“You’re a dick.”

“You said that a lot more than you said please and thank you.”

“Okay, settle down, Mikey,” Gerard chides, “I blew up at him, okay? I kind of regret it, even. I told him I wanted to put pins in his eyes-”

“Ow.”

“Exactly! And I regret that a little bit, because the kid is a jerk, but I don’t like saying things like that, it’s rude. I try not to be like that, but it all just came to the surface all at once. Three years of holding myself back, but I just went for it. It’s not like he learned his lesson. He probably doesn’t even know my last name. I doubt he’d recognize me if he saw me at a Walmart. Except obviously he’d never be caught dead in a Walmart, because he’s a whiney little baby who makes his daddies assistant go to the store for him.”

“You okay? I think I just saw some steam coming out of your ears?” Brendon says.

“Fuck off. Will someone buy me a beer? It _is_ my birthday.”

“You’re going to go look for a job though, right?” Brendon asks, “Because I can barely pay my half of the rent, so there’s no way I can cover you.”

“I will, yeah. I mean I’ve got enough for rent for a few months, but yes, I will find a job.”

“Alright then.”

Gerard is maybe a little too tired and spent to even be out right now, but he doesn’t care enough to move.

Brendon gets him a beer a moment later, and Gerard accepts it gladly.

“Toast?”

“I’d say this calls for a toast,” Brendon says.

“To the misfortune of the Iero family,” Gerard proposes.

“That’s a little mean,” Patrick says.

“Is it unjustified?” Gerard asks.

“I didn’t say that it was unjustified, it was just mean,” Patrick replies.

Brendon groans, “If it means that I don’t have to hear his filthy gossip about Frank or his boss anymore, than I am all for drinking to it.”

“Same,” Mikey says.

“I am not _that_ bad.”

“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that,” Brendon says mockingly.

~*~*~*~

On the next day, Friday morning, Gerard is not too keen to start job hunting. He’d just as well sleep in all day, and eat potato chips, but apparently that’s a ‘waste of his time.’

“Have fun at work,” Gerard says when Brendon stumbles out of his room at seven in the morning.

“Why are you already awake?” Brendon asks.

“I guess I’m just used to waking up this early. I’ve been up for like half an hour,” he answers, “but I don’t have to go to Starbucks this morning, and I am reveling in the fact that I don’t. I don’t have to do shit all day!”

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Brendon frowns, making himself a pot of shitty coffee, that luckily has ten times less ingredients that Gerard is used to. They buy their coffee at the dollar store. It tastes a bit like dirt.

“But you have a job at least,” Gerard shrugs.

“You call customer service at a Best Buy a job, I call it the ‘who will achieve the status of ultimate idiot today?’ contest. Award goes to the guy who called me last year and thought the space bar was the mouse, and the track pad was the space bar.”

“Oh that sounds like a wild ride.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Brendon says. “For all you know you’re going to end up at a Burger King.”

“I am not going to work at a Burger King.”

“Can you cite the assistant job on your résumé or will they call your old boss?” Brendon asks.

“Can’t I just leave out his number?”

“Then they’ll think you’re padding it,” Brendon says, “put it on there, and if they call the guy then you won’t get that job, but if they don’t then you’ll be fine.”

“I hate job searching.”

“Sucks for you,” Brendon says, finishing a mug of coffee and throwing it in the sink. “I will see you later. Enjoy your first day off work in 36 months.”

“Will do!”

Gerard looks through ads for a little while, cringing at every one he sees, because he really doesn’t want to be a florist or a bathroom attendant. He also doesn’t know shit about cars, and has absolutely no training in just about anything.

He’s just about ready to give up for the day by noon, when his phone rings, which is odd, because he doesn’t know that many people. To Gerard’s horror, it’s Mr. Iero.

Instinctively, he rejects the call, because there is no way in hell he is going down _that_ rabbit hole. He tries to reason with himself that maybe it was a butt dial or something, because he doesn’t want to be chewed out for quitting. Gerard’s often an unassuming person, and it’s easy to take advantage of him sometimes because of this. He just doesn’t like talking back to people so he gets stepped all over. He’d probably let the guy yell at him for several hours without hanging up the phone, because it’s in his nature to be polite. 

He’s also completely afraid of the guy. It’s kind of demeaning to admit to being afraid of your boss, but Gerard definitely is. He would never tell anyone that, but the guy is scary. He’s rich, and he’s greedy. He has the power to blackball anyone who gets in his way, and Gerard’s terrified of that.

Instead of risking the onslaught of insults he’s bound to get by answering, he just doesn’t pick the phone up.

The second time his phone rings makes his stomach turn even more leaden. Mr. Iero should be somewhere in LA right about now, but no one booked him a flight. No one got him a hotel. That is probably why he’s so determined to get ahold of Gerard. He just turns the ring on his phone off, and gets back to the wanted ads. Not today.

Gerard has to do a lot of coaxing to believe that he’s doing the right thing. He thinks that it’s still possible to get his job back, but he’d have to grovel, and he still has some pride that he’d like to retain.

The phone lies face up on the coffee table in front of him, so Gerard sees the screen light up several more times. Luckily turning the sound off means that there’s no ringing so he can ignore it. With every call it gets easier to ignore the phone, because he knows that the longer he ignores it, the angrier Mr. Iero will get. It’s easy to ignore a call from what might as well be The Hulk.

“ _Maybe Mr. Iero really needs me_ ,” Gerard thinks, and then shakes his head. Whether or not Gerard is needed, he isn’t going to answer. He’s just not. He quit that job, he wants no part of it.

How long can that mentality last though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out that it shouldn't matter how many people read this for me to write it, and I think that's a good view to take. It really shouldn't matter, so I'm going to try to be a little less conscious of views or comments. It's about the writing not the praise the writing gets.


	5. The Trouble With Levies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of the beginning of the actual story.

If it wasn’t enough that Gerard got phone calls from Mr. Iero the entire weekend then he doesn’t know what else possibly could be. The phone doesn’t stop. It’s going off every hour of the day like a bomb. It doesn’t make any sense. Surely any rational human being would have given up by now. It’s not like he really thought that Mr. Iero was a rational human being, but surely more rational than this.

“If he doesn’t stop calling by Tuesday you should block him,” Brendon says through a mouth full of cereal. It’s Monday morning, and Gerard has his first job interview in what feels like forever at eleven.

“I’m way ahead of you,” Gerard says, “I’m going to stop by his house this afternoon to personally tell him I quit.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not, I am not going to put up with my phone ringing every second for the rest of my life,” Gerard says, just as his phone starts ringing again.

“It’s ridiculous,” Brendon says. “Three fucking days and he hasn’t realized you’re not going to pick up? That’s mad!”

“It eats up my battery to,” Gerard says.

“Just turn it off. If I need you I’ll send a messaging bird,” Brendon says.

“Great, so I’ll be checking every pigeon’s leg that I come across.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Brendon says, finishing his cereal, and standing up. “I hope you’re interview goes swell.”

“I hope you don’t have to talk to any old ladies without hearing aids,” Gerard replies.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Brendon says before leaving the apartment.

Gerard looks at his phone, lighting up for the millionth time, and he decides that turning it off really is the best idea. Whatever the hell his boss wants is not important to him anymore, and Gerard doesn’t work for the guy. He’s not even Gerard’s boss anymore, so he has no right to be calling him at all hours of the day. It’s mad.

He just doesn’t understand it. What on earth could possibly be worth all the trouble? What could be so important that you would have to call over and over and over? It’s not like he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff or something. He’d have fallen days ago if that were the case, so what is so important? It’s possible that the guy is just calling so often intentionally to piss Gerard off. He didn’t know that Mr. Iero had that much dedication, but it’s possible. Maybe it is just a prank of sorts. Maybe the guy is so inept that he needs Gerard, his _ex_ -assistant to set up interviews to find his _new_ assistant.

He pities whoever has to take that job, because it is not fun. They’ll be stuck with the worst job in the world, but there’s nothing Gerard can really do about it. There will always be people desperate enough to take it on. 

Gerard sighs, and starts to count the numbers as they switch on his watch until he can leave for his interview.

~*~*~*~

Gerard turns his phone back on to check the time after his interview. It’s pushing three o’clock, because a particular interviewer was not very punctual, and showed up nearly two hours late. He then proceeded to treat Gerard like an idiot, and all but blamed Gerard for his tardiness. It’s safe to say, Gerard’s not going to be getting that job.

The sky is still dark and gloomy from the other day. It’s been rainy all weekend, and it’s pushing into the beginning of the week as well. Mr. Iero lives on the other side of town, but luckily Gerard is in a busy section of the city so there’s a Subway stop not too far from where his interview took place.

Gerard lazily catches a train, but he’s not very close to his destination, so he takes to scrolling through his phone.

He’s currently got about one hundred missed calls all from the same person. He doesn’t know whether to call and warn Mr. Iero that he’s dropping by or just arrive unannounced. He really doesn’t want to call though so he’s just going to stop at the house.

While messing around with his phone, in an attempt to entertain his highly distractible brain, Gerard stumbles back upon the same blog that he’d read the other day. A new post to make him despair about the state of humanity.

_“I think that many people see the elite is arrogant, when in fact the truth of the matter is that people outside that collection just have impossibly low standards. It’s not fault of mine that you grew up without money. There’s only so much class in the lower-class, and that’s what dubs them as such. If you’ve got the money, you have standards, and you have no obligation to look twice at those inferior to yourself. Being a multi-millionaire myself means that I grew up in a society of more upper-class citizens, and I’m sorry if I consider only people of that nature as worthy of decency._

_Poor people are used to it, because that’s how they have to live, but why should I be expected to talk to you like an equal human when we both know that I am better than you? I am, and that’s fact. The more money you have, the easier it is to accommodate to niceties._

_I guess I just mean to say that I treat you based on your level of success. Have you little success, then the respect you deserve matches that quota, and have you a surplus of accomplishments, then you’ve earned my admiration. I believe it to be unfair for everyone to think they should be treated on the same plain of decorum, because you simply don’t have the right to it._

_It’s all well and good for people of poverty to respect one another (though I think that is a display of extreme folly) because they share the same dilemma of frivolousness, but you should still look up to the elite. Those with a higher sum of value on their lives, deserve respect from all kinds, and those with a lower sum, deserve only the respect of people like them. The rich should always be well-regarded, and should always be revered. Fact.”_

Sometimes Gerard just hates people. How do these people exist? How does someone become so ignorant and nulled to their own stupidity?

When he comes to the right stop the sky is grey and desolate, but at least it’s not raining. The walk to the Iero house is familiar to him, but he walks leisurely. He’s taken this very route many thousands of times. Sometimes upwards of ten times a day.

Gerard watches his feet as he walks down all the length of the sidewalk, and because of this he doesn’t notice anything immediately wrong with the picture in front of him. He looks up as he approaches the house, or mansion or whatever the right word is. There’s definitely something off. Most specifically in the form of a moving van.

Spencer is standing in front of the house, with a bored posture. He watches as a series of men brings things out of the house and into the van. Gerard doesn’t really know what to think.

He goes up to Spencer and asks the obvious question, “What the fuck is going on?”

Spencer turns and looks at Gerard almost taken aback, “you quit, didn’t you?”

“I did, indeed. Mr. Iero keeps calling me though, and I was going to tell him that it’s completely inappropriate and has to stop. I also have a few things I want to say to him about his personality, and maybe a choice finger or two.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Spencer says, surely.

“Why? What’s going on? Are they moving or something?”

“Well they’re definitely moving, but not really in the way you’d think,” Spencer says.

“Could you give me a straight answer?” Gerard asks.

“It’s the IRS, they levied his bank account,” Spencer replies.

“They did what?”

“They levied his bank account. Seizing his property as we speak. The house, the cars, anything and everything he owns,” Spencer says blankly.

“What?” Gerard asks, dumbstruck, “Why?”

“I think they said that he didn’t pay his taxes. He’s built up such a huge tax debt that they’re taking all his property to satisfy it.”

“But that’s not possible. I did his taxes for him! Well, I took them to an accountant for him, but I did see to it that they were done,” Gerard replies.

“Both identities?” Spencer asks.

“What? Both? Was there more than one?” 

“Apparently there was two,” Spencer says, “But both identities, and the person they belong to, have fled the scene.”

“Why’d he have two?”

Spencer shrugs, “why did he do anything? It was probably a greed thing. More money. Blew up in his face though, didn’t it?”

“You’re saying he was paying taxes for two different identities, and I was only taking care of one of them for him? Is this my fault?” Gerard asks, horrified.

“I don’t see how you’d think that. You didn’t know. None of us knew. Not even his own son.”

“So Mr. Iero is gone then?” Gerard asks, questioningly

“Yeah, no one’s seen him since last night,” Spencer says. “I think he got scared of the responsibility so he just took off. Left his son behind, and everything. Got away with a few thousand dollars, but I think that that’s probably illegal.”

“That’s terrible,” Gerard says, “Where’s Frank now?”

Spencer points to someone a little ways away with his head in his hands. He’s sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with his knees pulled into his body. His body is slack, and it’s probable that he’s crying, but Gerard can’t really tell from the distance.

“So they’re taking everything? Even the house?”

“Everything,” Spencer replies.

“Do you mean to say that the boy is homeless?” Gerard asks.

“Well he doesn’t have a house, so I’d say homeless is a fair statement,” Spencer replies.

“But that’s not good. Where’s he going to live? He has no money! The guy grew up as rich and arrogant, he doesn’t know a thing about the real world.”

“That’s not my problem,” Spencer says.

“But it’s not fair. Just because he’s treated us like scum doesn’t mean he deserves to be cast aside as if _he_ were,” Gerard states.

“Don’t you see that that’s the point? It’s his just desserts.”

“But that makes you know different than him, don’t you see? Sure Frank is a bit of a douchebag, but he doesn’t deserve to have everything taken away from him. That’s just unfair.”

“The way we’ve been treated under him was unfair, so I’d say it’s perfectly fine for Frank to have to get a taste of his own medicine.”

Gerard groans, “But that’s wrong! Don’t you see? I’d never sleep again if I knew that I pushed a guy in need out into this world without a second glance. He’s got no knowledge of the world, he wouldn’t last a day.”

“That’s a you problem,” Spencer shrugs. “Right now, I have to go find myself another job.”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Left already,” Spencer says, “We got the news this morning. I’m just here because I’m not the one who evaded his taxes, and I want to see if I can do anything about getting my paycheck. It’s not likely, but I am owed a few hundred dollars for the last week, so it’d be nice.”

“Good luck,” Gerard nods to him, and then looks back over at Frank. 

He shouldn’t sympathize with the guy, he really shouldn’t. Not after the hell he’s been put through. He’s sensitized to feel sorry for the downtrodden though. It looks like Frank is now highly classifiable as downtrodden. It’s hard not to feel some sort of emotion for a guy that’s crying on the sidewalk curb.

Gerard groans to himself, because he’s really going to regret this. Slowly he makes his way over to Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just curious: does anyone, anyone at all, know where the title of this fic comes from?


	6. Poor Frank (Pun Intended)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sympathizing with Frank.

“Hey, uh, Frank,” Gerard says, wincing at how awkward he sounds, “You okay?”

“Oh I am just fantastic,” Frank says, his voice wrecked. He doesn’t look up, but he still sounds smarmy as always.

“Could you, ugh, I’m trying to be polite, Frank. Are you alright?” Gerard says, trying to keep himself calm despite the way he hates the guy he’s talking to.

“I...” Frank starts, but he doesn’t finish, and there’s the sound of whining, before he’s lifting his head just slightly above his knees. He doesn’t look up, but Gerard’s fairly sure he’s wiping tears from his eyes. Gerard’s heart kind of breaks a little bit, even though he doesn’t know why.

“I’m not here to judge you,” Gerard says, “I just, I mean, I feel bad for you.”

“Well don’t!” he snaps, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Gerard doubts that. He hates him, but there is some amount of humanity in the guy. He’s not just an indestructible ball. Seeing him crying makes Gerard realize that mortality like a kick in the stomach.

“I heard about your dad, I’m sorry. I’m not going to say I don’t hate the guy, because I do, but even I know he shouldn’t have abandoned you like this,” Gerard confesses. It’s incredibly selfish of him to have run away. He looks down at his phone and realizes that it’s still been ringing. Why is Mr. Iero still calling him?

“Why are you even here?” Frank asks, “You quit. I distinctly remember it. It’s kind of hard to forget.”

“Well, I mean,” Gerard doesn’t know how to say that he came here to yell at Frank’s dad, but he’s not going to lie, “to be honest, your dad’s been calling me ever since I quit, and I just wanted to tell him to cut it out.”

“He called _you_?” Frank ask, looking up at Gerard. The sight breaks his heart even further because he looks like a child. Red eyes, swelling with tears, and a face so hurt. Betrayed is the right word. He looks betrayed.

“Still calling me. I don’t know why,” Gerard confesses, and he feels guilty. Why should he feel guilty? It’s not like it’s his fault that Frank’s dad is calling him rather than Frank. It’s pretty confusing. Why could that be the case?

“Well he likes everybody better than me,” Frank says, and turns back to look at the pavement, silent.

“Do you have any, like, friends who you can stay with?”

“Friends,” he scoffs, “I have people who I pay to hang out with me, but no, I don’t have any friends.”

Gerard is painfully uncomfortable with how hard it is to be mad at the guy. He _hates_ him. Literally hates him. It’s like Frank is the textbook example of all the things that tug at Gerard’s heartstrings though, and it’s annoying him that he isn’t mad. He really should be, but god, he can’t help but feel so bad for him.

“I’m,” Gerard says, but forgets what he was going to say. “I’m really sorry, Frank. I really mean that. I mean, you’ve got to understand that I was really angry the other day. Really fed up, already having a bad day, and I just exploded. I’m sorry about what I said, and I’m sorry that this is happening to you.”

Frank says the last thing that Gerard would have ever thought he’d hear come from his mouth. He gets a little dizzy by the word itself.

“Thanks.”

“What did you say?” Gerard asks.

“Thanks,” Frank repeats, and it’s even stranger the second time around.

“But...”

“I’m not a fucking robot! I understand that you’re trying to be nice, and I’m trying to be nice back, fuckface,” Frank says.

“Well the ‘fuckface’ at the end there really sealed the deal for you,” Gerard says, “and why, after three years of knowing you, is that the first time I’ve ever heard you say thanks?”

“Because I’m in a hopeless situation, and I’m smart enough to realize that pissing you off isn’t going to make anything better,” Frank replies.

“I didn’t know you were smart enough to work that out,” Gerard says. He decides to sit on the curb next to Frank, leaving about a foot between them.

“Why do you assume I’m an idiot?” Frank asks.

“Overwhelming evidence that points to that conclusion,” Gerard replies. That isn’t really true, but he doubts Frank is going to call him out on it.

He makes a noise somewhere between a cross of irritation and anger, but doesn’t say anything.

“Listen, Frank. I can’t just leave a guy sitting on a sidewalk crying to himself-”

“I’m not crying!”

“No of course not,” Gerard replies, “the red eyes, and sniffling is just a coincidence. Allergies.”

“It is allergy season,” Frank says.

“You really are an idiot if you think I’m going to believe that excuse, but whatever you say. My point is that I’m not going to leave you here, knowing you are technically homeless.”

“Don’t say that word,” Frank says, grabbing his head by the hair, and pulling it into his arms. It looks painful actually.

“It’s not _untrue_ ,” Gerard says.

“But I can’t,” his voice actually does crack for real this time, and he sounds like he’s going to start balling, “I just can’t be. I’ve... I’ve never been... how do I even...”

This is the period of time where, if Frank weren’t a complete douchebag, Gerard would probably try to comfort him by putting an arm around him. The fact of the matter is that Frank is a douchebag, and he doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t really even want to touch him.

“I’d say it’s not too bad, but you’re worse off than I am,” Gerard says, “I have a home, and you don’t. It might surprise you to learn that there are different degrees of lower class. One of them is middle class, which a rich guy like you might not even know about. I make enough money to get by, and live. You are, right now lower on the ladder than myself, but I’m not going to look down at you for that. No, I’m going to look down on you for the way you’ve treated me.”

“I’m even less than you,” Frank says weakly.

“Well I wouldn’t say that. I’d say that you’re finally on the same level as me. You can look me in the eyes now, without breaking some rich person law or something.”

“What law is that?” Frank asks defensively, turning his face to look at Gerard. His eyebrows are slanted at Gerard, and it doesn’t suit the redden eyes.

“Isn’t that a rich person thing? Like a proverb of the wealthy?”

“Where the fuck did you hear that?” Frank asks, “It’s horribly fallacious.”

“I, um, never mind,” Gerard replies. Maybe Mr. Blog runner’s beliefs aren’t widespread. He’s also quite alarmed to hear that Frank knows a word as big as ‘fallacious.’

“You judge me so violently and still think your better than me,” Frank says.

“Well _you_ think you’re better than _me_ ,” Gerard replies.

“You’re right,” Frank says, “well you were. I don’t need you to throw it in my face that you’re better than me right now, okay?”

“I didn’t say... god you’re infuriating!” Gerard says, “bottom line, do you have anywhere to go, or not?”

“Didn’t I just answer that question?”

“Not really,” Gerard says, “you just said that you have no real friends, and no offense, but I’m not surprised.”

“Offense taken,” Frank says.

“A lesser person would leave you here on the sidewalk crying to yourself for what you’ve done and said to me. I’m tempted, because, Frank, I’m not going to underplay how much I dislike you. I can’t just leave you here though, because I’d never forgive myself.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

Gerard shrugs, “I’m saying that I’m a decent person, who happens to have an unoccupied couch.”

“Oh god,” Frank groans, “is that what I’ve amounted to? A fucking couch in my dad’s ex-assistant’s house?”

“Well apartment,” Gerard corrects.

“Ew,” Frank says, and Gerard wants to slap him, but he restrains himself.

“Look at it this way, you have a couch with a semi-reliable food supply, or you have a box next to a dumpster with whatever you can scrape by with,” Gerard shrugs, “I’m not keen about it either, but I’m too good a person to leave you the way you are.”

Frank looks up at him, with eyes that are so wide and scared that Gerard is almost convinced he’s talking to a little kid, “is that a real offer though?”

“Well my roommate won’t be too happy about it, but it’s the best you’re going to get. Spencer has this idea that you deserve this. Part of me doesn’t disagree with him, but part of me also is willing to give you a chance. It’s a chance though, not a guarantee. I’m not saying it’s a right of yours, it’s an opportunity. You can’t expect it to still be an offer if you act like, well if you act like yourself.”

“I hate that I have no other choice,” Frank says.

“No, you really don’t,” Gerard says.

“Are you going to treat me really badly?”

“Like the way you’ve treated me?”

Frank doesn’t say anything but nods. Gerard almost gets the feeling that he feels bad about his behavior, which is quite a strange thing to think about Frank.

“No, I’ll try not to,” Gerard huffs, and then stands up, “Well is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s really embarrassing for me,” Frank says quietly.

“I know it is, but I’ll have you know, that I do not judge you for the amount of money you have, but rather the person you are.”

“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?”

Gerard stumbles on his words slightly, looking down at Frank who hasn’t moved from his perch. He looks so broken, just sitting there.

“You’re not a very nice person, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re necessarily bad,” Gerard says.

Frank nods soberly, and pulls himself up. The only thing Gerard can think, in seeing him standing in front of him, is how hopeless and terrified the look in Frank’s eyes is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering the title comes from the song [Stop by the Plain White T’s.](http://youtu.be/1pNNLCbkV8g)


	7. Gerard Ain’t No Saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think I could make Frank that unlikable?

Maybe it’s because Frank grew up as an annoying rich boy, or maybe he really is a germaphobe, but he was absolutely terrified of the Subway. Not because he was afraid of the train itself, or any other rational thought, but apparently because it is insatiably dirty. Also he might get mugged.

Gerard tries to tell him that of all the years he's ridden the damn thing, that has never happened, but he just doesn't listen. Gerard has to physically push him onto it, and all the time his phone doesn't seize ringing.

"Frank, just get a seat, I have to answer my damn phone."

"My dad?"

"Apparently, yes," Gerard says.

"But if he ran away, shouldn't you really give your phone to the police or something?"

"Why should they care?"

"Because he ran away!"

"Is this a Good Samaritan thought, or a vendetta against your father?"

Frank doesn't say anything, just mumbles and eyes the other passengers on the car nervously. It's like he thinks everyone is a criminal.

Luckily, he doesn't dress like a rich boy. He's wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt over a T-shirt. His shoes are a little pricey looking though.

Gerard looks down at his phone, waiting for it to ring again, which, if the timing is still remaining the same, it should do very soon. It’s a little rude to answer a phone on the Subway, but he’s really curious as to why Mr. Iero is calling him.

When he picks the phone up a minute later, there’s no one on the other end.

“Hello?” Gerard asks, but the line is empty. “Mr. Iero? Sir?”

No response. It muddles Gerard’s brain up a bit. He hangs the phone up, and waits for it to ring back, but it doesn’t. The whole ride to his apartment, there’s nothing. 

“He’s not picking up,” Gerard says.

“The ever enigmatic Mr. Iero for you. Doesn’t tell you a fucking thing and then he abandons you when you most direly need him,” Frank replies.

The time passes slowly, as they go over bumps and Frank is forced to grab a railing to which he then squeaks and wipes his hand on his pants. Gerard honestly doesn’t blame him there. How many people have strummed off before touching that pole?

“Come on this is our stop,” Gerard says, and Frank is all too eager to get off. He’s out before Gerard is. His hands are in either of his pockets with his shoulders hunched.

Gerard drags him to his apartment. Surprisingly, Frank says almost nothing, no snarky comments about the shitty architecture, he just follows Gerard with his head down. His posture isn’t anything to write home about though. He looks like he’s got a weight on the back of his neck.

Frank doesn’t even turn his nose up to the apartment, which also isn’t very exciting. It’s pretty old, and kind of small.

Gerard suggests that Frank sit on the couch, and Frank just does what he’s asked. It’s pretty pathetic, seeing him so disheartened.

“Brendon will be home soon. I have to run this by him before anything is decided,” Gerard says.

“Is that like your boyfriend or something?”

Gerard snorts, “No. No. Ew. No. Definitely not. He’s my roommate. I can’t afford to pay for this apartment without him.”

“But it’s tiny,” Frank says.

“Well here’s an interesting fact, minimum wage is not a livable wage. That’s the least amount of money a person can possibly make legally for a job. I make, or well, _made_ more than that for your father. Brendon doesn’t though, and either way, New York is an expensive city to live in.”

“Oh,” Frank replies.

Gerard tries to awkwardly not make eye contact until Brendon gets there. He doesn’t know the technicalities of what will occur when Brendon gets home but it will lead to an inevitable variety of shitstorm.

It’s about half an hour until that happens though. The keys fumble in the lock and then the door is pushing open, and Brendon, looking disheveled and tired, enters.

“Hey, Brendon,” Gerard says timidly, “I have a surprise!”

“Who’s the brawd in my living room?” Brendon says, without missing a beat. He looks at Frank with a raised eyebrow, and Frank just looks back timidly.

“That’s, sort of, uh, what I’m talking about.”

“Who is that?” Brendon asks, already sensing something’s wrong by the nervous look on Gerard’s face.

“Well that’s, um, that’s Frank,” Gerard replies.

Brendon’s face falls. Quite literally. His jaw drops open, and he looks at Gerard like he’s completely stoned.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Brendon says. “Frank? As in Frank Iero. Son of the man you hate so much it made your hair fall out.”

“How’d you know he made my hair fall out?”

“Well there were chunks of hair that were grossing me out, and they were far too large to be natural. Why the fuck is he in my apartment?”

“ _Our_ apartment!”

“No more yours than mine,” Brendon says.

“Well, I mean, the thing is that, he’s like, homeless,” Gerard says carefully.

“The rich guy. The rich guy is homeless? Daddy kick him out?” Brendon asks amusedly looking at Frank.

“No his dad... uh,” Gerard stutters, “how about we talk in the kitchen?”

Gerard grabs Brendon and drags him into the kitchen. There’s a doorway on either side of the kitchen, but no real doors, so it goes straight into the living room. Gerard’s often wandered what the purpose even is in having the wall there, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He just rents the place, he can’t take the wall down.

“Explain,” Brendon says with one word, sounding beyond irate.

“Okay, so the IRS levied his dad’s bank accounts, and they took everything to settle the debt. House, cars, I think even clothes. He’s literally got nothing. Other than the clothes on his back, he’s absolutely broke. His dad ran away, which doesn’t really surprise me, he wasn’t a very good man and was way to selfish to care about Frank. I saw the kid crying on the sidewalk, and I don’t know, it was just like... I couldn’t leave him.”

“Yes, you could. It’s called indifference,” Brendon says.

“But, Brendon!”

“No! No, I do not want him staying here. This is my home too, Gerard,” Brendon says.

“Need I remind you who had to spot your rent the past three months?” Gerard asks, “Please just let me do what’s right.”

“I’m going to pay you back!”

“I’m not asking you to pay me back, I’m asking for you to find some decency. I can’t just kick him to the curb, the poor guy has nowhere to go,” Gerard replies.

“That’s not my problem. Every time you come home you complain about him. You complain about Satan’s spawn and how he pushed you around all day, as he has for the past three years, and now you want to invite him to _live with us_? Nuh uh, no way,” Brendon says.

“But I can’t turn the guy away,” Gerard says, “Have a little heart. I’ll make sure he stays out of your way. I just don’t want to be the bitch who lets the guy live on the streets when I have the option of keeping him safe.”

“And why would you want that? You hate the kid.”

“He’s still a person! He’s still a human, with feelings and needs. I’m not heartless, I can’t let him go live out on the street.”

“Would he do the same for you, Gerard? If you were in a bad situation and got kicked out of your home, would he let you stay with him at his house?” Brendon asks.

“No, but that’s not the point. The point is that I would. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I would want him to take me in, so I should do that now. How would you feel in his place, Brendon? What would you want someone to do if your roles were reversed?” Gerard says.

Brendon sighs, and it’s quiet for a long time, with no words.

“He’s getting a job,” Brendon says, and Gerard smiles, “and he’s going to chip in on rent where he can. He gets the sofa, and I don’t want to hear a single complaint out of that snooty little mouth of his.”

“It’s done. I’ll find him a job. I have to get a new job too.”

Brendon sighs outwardly, “But I’m not happy about this.”

“Neither am I, but it’s gotta be done.”

“You sure no one else was willing to take him in? Someone with a spare room?” Brendon asks.

“No one wants to deal with him. Brendon, he’s a jerk. He’s a pretty awful person, but he is still a person.”

“You ate him out for pushing you around, Gerard. If he pushes me around, I will kick him in the crotch and then I will kick him right back onto the street.”

Gerard nods, “and I don’t blame you. I’m done with letting him push me around. He’s not a good person, Brendon. You have to understand that. Like, he’s the kind of guy that gets murdered at the beginning of cop shows. He’s the guy who pisses off someone so much that you sympathize with the guy who killed him, but just because he’s rude doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to live. You’ve seen the show Friends! Rachel started out like him, though not as much of a heartless bastard. It is possible for him to change. It’ll be hard, but I don’t want to give up on the guy. I’m a better person than he is.”

“You damn well are,” Brendon says.

“Right, and I know that. You know that. I’m a better person then Frank is, but I don’t know if _he_ knows that. It’s not going to take him a long time to figure out though. He’s going to be middle class, which means that not a single person he meets is going to put up with his attitude, and that should help him to become a real person,” Gerard says.

“Well he’s a real person, he’s just not a very good one,” Brendon says.

“I’m not sure he’s that much. You didn’t work for him, I wanted to strangle the guy in his sleep a few times, but I would never ruin my own life over someone like him. That would just be disgustingly sad on my part. He’s got no real soul, but that doesn’t mean he can’t grow one,” Gerard says.

“He’s going to have to grow a pair before he gets a soul though,” Brendon says, and Gerard snorts.

“And a brain,” Gerard says, “you know he really needs to visit Oz. Look at the kid, he’s got no balls, no brains, no heart, and he needs to get back home.”

It becomes a trivial question as to whether or not Brendon and Gerard are aware that Frank can hear everything they say. He can though. Every insult, every statement, and it kicks him where it hurts. He didn’t know that anyone could be so vile to him with nothing but words.

The sad part is that he _knows_. Known for years. This isn’t the first time he’s heard it, because it’s been every tormenting nightmare for since he was at least ten. Frank’s not new to the fact that he’s not a good person. He can’t impress everybody though, and eventually someone pulls the short straw. Gerard pulled the short straw when he was hired by Frank’s father.

What was it that his dad had said? ’They’re the help, they don’t need to be treated the same way us accomplished people do. It’s their fault that they’re in that mess, don’t pity them.’

You try to do what your father tells you. If you don’t do what your dad says you get grounded, and you’re not allowed to eat. No, Frank’s not a stranger to starvation in the slightest. He’s got a better chance at a steady food supply here than he did in his own home.

But rich people aren’t allowed to complain because they have everything. How can you ever be sad when you have all the money in the world? When you have the luxuries of a first world country, you have no right to complain. 

That’s the thing about sadness, it’s always there, and yet you can’t see it. No one can see it, so it’s easier to brush off. Frank’s not allowed to be sad, because why should he be? This is the only time in his life where he has a justifiable reason. It’s also the first time where he’s been able to pinpoint the cause of the sad.

There’s a lot of stereotyping of rich people’s opinions of their less wealthy counterparts, but don’t you think for one second that that categorizing doesn’t go both ways.

The two men leave the kitchen a few minutes later and Frank stares down at his fingers, wanting to keep his mouth closed for the rest of his life. What can he ever say that won’t be overanalyzed by them?

“We’ve deliberated, and Gerard says you can stay,” Brendon says, sounding extremely unhappy about it.

“I know,” Frank says, “I could hear you.”

“Boo hoo,” Brendon replies, rolling his eyes.

Gerard stares aghast, because he’d forgotten Frank was there. Now he feels horrible about himself. Frank’s not the best person, but he didn’t deserve to hear them ripping on him.

“Frank, that was...” Gerard says, because he’s been caught up in the fact that he really has no excuse again. Once again, Frank caught him saying rude things, and now what’s he supposed to say to counteract that?

“You don’t want me here, I get that,” Frank says pulling himself off the couch.

Gerard really shouldn’t feel as guilty as he does. He shouldn’t. Frank has never shown him any decency so he absolutely shouldn’t feel remorse, but it’s the look in his eyes. The way his eyebrows furrow together saying ‘angry,’ but the contradiction in his eyes, saying ‘hurting.’

“The last thing I’d ever want to do is _inconvenience_ you,” Frank says, letting the last few words bite into Gerard.

“I’m-”

“What? Are you sorry? Me too,” Frank says, brushing past Gerard and out the front door without another word. Gerard just stares stunned at the air where Frank had just been standing.

“Well that takes care of that problem,” Brendon says cheerily.

“How can you fucking say that?” Gerard asks.

“ _I_ didn’t tell him to make a dramatic exit!”

Gerard scrambles for words, but comes up empty, so he makes a grunting sound, and runs back through the door behind Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started this new class, that goes for about three weeks, so I'm still going to update stories and such, but it's almost definitely not going to be more than one a night.


	8. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard realizes that he doesn't know what a soul is.

Frank has short legs, but do not be fooled, he can run pretty fast. The problem is that he has no idea where the fuck he’s going so Gerard manages to catch up to him.

“Leave me alone, I get that you don’t want me here,” Frank says, when Gerard approaches.

“Frank, we all say stupid things sometimes, especially in the company of our friends,” Gerard says, “I shouldn’t have said it with you only a little ways away.”

“You didn’t care. You meant every word,” Frank replies.

“I may have embellished my real opinions, but I didn’t mean it to the extent I said it,” Gerard says.

“No, but it really says something about who you are as a person doesn’t it?” Frank asks, and Gerard doesn’t follow so Frank continues, “Well you were all for saying wretched things about me when you thought I couldn’t hear. You wouldn’t have felt bad about saying it if I didn’t hear.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything, just looks at his shoes.

“Am I wrong?” Frank asks.

“No, you’re not wrong,” Gerard says in a small voice.

“I think you’re forgetting that you and I are equivalent. That’s never been something I was blind to, Gerard. I know you work for what you do, and you have to fucking accept that I never have. I don’t want to see you ever again. Ideally, I wouldn’t have to, but I don’t know what choice I have,” Frank says.

“So the dramatic exit was purely for ambiance?”

“No, I’m not going back,” Frank says resolutely, “Not with you.”

“What? But you have nowhere to go.”

“Nowhere is better than a place I am unwelcome.”

Gerard makes a face, wondering why he of all people is in this mess, and says, “well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Frank, but your sort are not suited for begging. That’s what your life is if you leave now, Frank. Begging. Do you really think you can do that? Do you really think so? I’m not trying to underestimate your skill, or lack thereof when I say this, but I need you to realize that you’re probably going to die without my hospitality.”

“Oh, please. I do not depend on you for survival,” Frank says.

“You really do,” Gerard says, “And I’m sorry about that. This isn’t a family musical, Frank. Have you read Oliver Twist, because I can guarantee you that you don’t have a rich fucking uncle to take you in? Here’s a kick of reality, you’ll die if you go out on your own.”

“I won’t,” Frank says.

“You don’t know a thing about the world, Frank. You’ve only seen one side of it. One incredibly small part of it. Now, maybe you are a bit more down to earth then I originally gave you credit for, but it’s a fact that you have no street smarts. You don’t know how to get a job, you don’t even know how to conduct an interview. You’re not going to make it in this life without someone to help you.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t want to?” Gerard guesses, and Frank nods, “that’s something you have to suck in. Pride is something people get rid of very early on. You can’t have pride, Frank. You just can’t, because it’s not something people will let you have. You have to accept that every once in a while, we all need to ask for help. We all need someone to look after us in times of need, and unfortunately that’s not something you can have and still maintain your dignity. It’ll come back, maybe, but then it’ll be shattered again. It’s not something you keep, it’s something that comes and goes in waves. Pride isn’t forever. That’s an important thing to learn.”

“But why?”

“Because you wouldn’t be able to go on with your life if you didn’t admit defeat. You have to suck that pride in when you apologize. When you have to tell someone that you were wrong, and when you have to ask someone for help.”

Frank looks at his hands, and around the hall at the walls around him. Gerard’s partially worried that, since they’re still in the apartment building, they might annoy the neighbors. He has no doubt Frank would be very good at annoying the other residents, so he decides that he’s going to have to really rework the guys entire brain.

The task ahead of him is rewiring Frank as a normal human being. Someone whose face isn’t a magnet for being punched.

“Take this is as a page from the brutal book of living. Just remember this, however much it may embarrass you or demean you to ask for help, it’s not seen the same way in the other person’s eyes. It’s not some sort of supremacy you now have over them, it’s the trust that another person is willing to confide with you their struggle. If you trust me, Frank, which I hope you do, you’ll see that I want to help you. I may not be your biggest fan, but I am not your enemy.”

“You said all those things,” Frank says.

“I did say all of those things, and I can’t take them back. This is me taking responsibility. This is me sucking in my pride to tell you that you are right, Frank. I shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have gossiped about you these past years to someone who had never met you. That was pretty despicable of me,” Gerard says. “So there. I took the responsibility, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too?”

“Well I hope so,” Gerard says, “Do you have any specifics as to what you’re sorry about?”

“I- treating you like shit? Treating everyone like shit. It’s just that... I mean I don’t want to justify the way I’ve acted my whole life, but I want you to remember that when you’re a little kid, your dad is your hero. You look up to your parents, and you see them as superheroes. I only ever had a dad, so he’s all I’ve ever had to go by to set an example. Everyone is the same person to the narrowest sense of the word, but it’s environment that decides a personality. Your parents are who you learn much of your behavior from, so please be patient with me,” Frank says, and Gerard’s pretty impressed. 

There’s definitely a sign of deflection in his words, but still, Gerard understands what he means. He understands what Frank means when he says that. He’s not going to let the guy off that easy, because really, it’s just words. He’s got to back his words up with actions, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t resonate.

“You could do better, but thank you for saying it,” Gerard says, slacking his posture by crossing his arms in front of Frank.

“Do you really think I have no soul?” Frank croaks.

“Oh, um,” Gerard hesitates. The truth is that he doesn’t really know what defines a soulless human being. He doesn’t know what characteristics designate a warm soul. He doesn’t even really know what a soul is. Obviously it’s a metaphorical concept, so there’s a million different ways to describe it, and now he has to try to refute his claim that he knows what one is in the first place. 

“I don’t know that I know what it means to have a soul,” Gerard says, “I mean, I think I have one, I guess. I think it’s a state of mind, but I don’t know what state of mind that is. I think everyone thinks about it in a different way. I don’t think it’s ever been your intention to be a bad person. I don’t think it’s _many_ peoples intention to be a bad person. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, because it definitely does happen, a lot. I think that’s more centered on people who intentionally try to hurt people. Sadists and what not. So I don’t really know, maybe I’m wrong about it. I don’t think you want to be a bad person though, and I think that point in and of itself is what gives you a soul.”

“So I do have one?” Frank asks.

“I don’t know if it’s really something you ever lose, I think it’s something that you lose _sight_ of. This isn’t Harry Potter, you can’t rip in halves a human soul, and I’m assuming you’ve never murdered anyone anyway,” Gerard says.

“Well only a few people,” Frank shrugs, and Gerard grins.   
Gerard is then blown back, by the overwhelming realization that Frank is a real human. A real human with emotions. Someone who uses humor as a defense, someone who feels pain, who sees the world through his own eyes. It’s a rather sonderous thing to realize that Frank is really a person, a person who probably feels like he’s been stabbed in the heart.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Frank asks, “I was only joking.”

“I know that, I just, I guess I forgot that rich people joked at all.”

“Well I’m not a rich person so maybe that has something to do with it.”

“The _mind_ of a rich person. It’s waning your way out of that mindset that’s going to be the hardest for you.”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

“I hope so, or my roommate will push you off a building,” Gerard says.

“Does your roommate hate me?”

“My roommate hates the person I’ve told him you are,” Gerard replies, “but I don’t know how much of what I said is who you really are.”

Frank doesn’t know who he is himself. He thinks inside, he’s a better person than other people think he is. The truth is that he doesn’t really know. He doesn’t know whether he’s relatable, or friendly, passionate or uninteresting. Easy to empathize with or completely apathetic. He doesn’t know. He knows who he wants to be.

He kind of wants to be like Gerard. Not perfect, but smart, and able to own up to being wrong. Frank thinks, despite the things he’s said, that Gerard is a good person. Flawed, but skilled in all the right things.

“So what do ya say then? Are you going to let me help you, or are you going to go out on that street and fend for yourself?” Gerard asks.

“If it’s alright still, I think I’d like your help.”

Gerard smiles, despite himself. He doesn’t know why, but he understands Frank’s predicament on a fundamental level. He does recognize the feeling, even if he has no experience being there.

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?


	9. Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic averages pretty long chapters for me. Is that a good thing or not?

Gerard hears a whimpering noise from the living room. It’s incessant. To be honest he’d thought it was in his own head for the better part of an hour. Then he realized that it was Frank.

He groans, because he’s trying to get to sleep, and now there’s an annoying sound coming from the living room. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do.

Gerard just frowns, and then pulls himself out of bed. He peeks out his door faintly before exiting, and he sees a pile of blankets, presumably with a Frank underneath. He’s in a ball on the couch. Gerard can see the faint outline of the boys back and spine through the blankets, and he’s shaking. It sounds an awful lot like he’s crying, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do.

If Gerard was awoken it seems logical to guess that Brendon may have been as well, and that will not fly with him at all. Brendon is already angry enough about having Frank there, and being woken up by him is not going to make him any happier.

“Frank?” Gerard asks, inching out of his room to look at him.

The noise stops, and Gerard hears him take a long inhale, like he’s trying to hold back from sobbing anymore.

“Frank, I’m not here to judge you, it’s just,” Gerard hesitates, “you woke me up. Are you okay?”

Frank makes a noise and then a small muffled sound comes from the pile of blankets that Gerard can’t quite hear.

“I’m...” he pauses, because he has no idea how to console Frank. He has no idea how awful it must feel to be in his position.

Frank’s head pops up, and his hands are rubbing at his eyes, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, I didn’t think that, I mean, I understand. Well, I don’t understand, but I understand that it’s tough for you.”

“You do?” Frank asks, “I thought you’d disregard it.”

“I’m not perfect, Frank.”

“I know,” he says.

“Thanks,” Gerard answers, but Frank starts giggling, and he keeps forgetting that Frank does that. He laughs, he jokes, he’s a human. He’s a human who apparently had never had Ramen before, but Gerard got him to eat it, and it turns out, Frank likes sixty cent noodles. Who doesn’t though?

“What does my life become now?” Frank asks. Gerard hums, trying to think of a proper answer, and walks over to the couch where Frank is lying precariously. He takes a seat on the edge of the arm rest, near Frank’s feet, and looks over at him for a moment before looking at the wall opposite them.

“I don’t know, actually. You get a job, you make money. You try to assimilate into the middle class,” Gerard shrugs, “You become like me.”

“But _what_ do I do? I don’t have any experience doing anything,” Frank says.

“That’s a great question. Whatever job you can get, I guess. I have to find one too, so we’re being sort of outmatched by Brendon, and he works customer service at a fucking Best Buy, so that’s not exactly ideal.”

Frank huffs and puts his head in his hands, “how do I even get a job?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow, we’ll find you something. It won’t be fun, and it may not pay well, but that’s life,” Gerard replies, “you don’t have a degree do you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well,” Gerard splutters, “Why would you need one when you had daddy’s money?”

“Yeah, but you know who was supposed to take over daddy’s position if he ever died? Do you think it was his ex-wife, his other ex-wife, his nonexistent second son, or me?” Frank asks.

“I guess I never considered that,” Gerard states, feeling a bit muddled by the fact that he never even thought about it. Really, he should have realized that. It’s logical, so he should’ve just assumed it.

“Business management.”

“But I never saw you leave for school.”

“Online,” Frank says, “I’m not good with people, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“Then it might be easier than I thought, but you need to realize that your boss is always right. Like, if you ever want to argue with your boss you shut your mouth and internalize it. Punch a wall or something. Spit in his coffee, just don’t talk to him about it. That’s lesson one,” Gerard says.

“Did you spit in my dad’s coffee?”

“I thought about it, but the man has some powerful taste buds. He’d probably figure it out,” Gerard replies.

“Is it wrong to say I hate him? My dad?” Frank asks.

“I don’t... I don’t know. I think the mentality that you’re always supposed to love your parents no matter what, is pretty fucked up. Looking after you, and being a good influence on you are two different things. People are always trying to tell you that you have to love your parents, and it depends on your situation, because sometimes you really shouldn’t. I can’t say that I know what that’s like necessarily, but you have some merit for saying that you dislike your father. It’s one thing to be a father, or a guardian, but it’s another thing to be a dad.”

“You lost me about halfway there.”

“I guess I’m saying that it’s not wrong to say you hate him if you have a justified reason for it. Given your life the past few hours, I’d say you’re accumulating validation,” Gerard answers.

“Why are you even up? I didn’t mean to wake you, you should go back to sleep,” Frank says, looking at Gerard curiously.

“Probably. I couldn’t really sleep either, but it’s alright, I don’t mind talking to you. It’s the weekend anyway, we have to wait a few days to get started on finding you a job.”

“You hated my guts less than 24 hours ago,” Frank states.

“I was wrong. I was judging one side of you, and that was wrong,” Gerard responds.

“So you don’t hate my guts?”

“Not per se.”

“Well you don’t like me, I know that,” Frank says.

“Give it time. I’m trying to get used to the fact that you’re not a bitch. It’s weird. I don’t think you’re fantastic, and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to have you living on my couch, but you’re not as bad as I’d thought. I judged you too quickly though, and I’ll own up to that.”

“I judged you to. Not maybe as much, but I did,” Frank replies.

“Not as much? You sure treated me like you were being overly judgmental,” Gerard points out.

“That’s because my dad told me I was supposed to treat the help like an asshole. You’re not the help though, you’re a human being. It’s a medieval principle, but I can’t take it back, so I’m apologizing for it now.”

“I appreciate it, but I think you should be getting some sleep,” Gerard says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Brendon made the loudest cup of coffee known to man tomorrow just to piss you off.”

“Alright,” Frank replies, sniffing, and stretching his legs out in front of him. Gerard watches him for a moment before he stands up and walks over to his room. He spares one more glance at Frank before going back to his room, and shuts the door. Why does Frank look so adorable wrapped up under blankets like that?

~*~*~*~

Gerard tries to keep his words quiet because Frank’s still asleep a short distance away.

“I just thought you hated the guy. It’s weird, you know. Like it’s just downright strange. You don’t just take in a homeless guy because you feel like it,” Mikey says.

“But you should’ve seen him. He was crying on the sidewalk, Mikes! How do you not feel bad for a guy who’s crying on the sidewalk?”

“Ugh... you’re way to empathetic,” Mikey rolls his eyes.

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’ll be fine. I’ll help him get a job, and wait until he’s got enough money to get his own place, or find himself his own roommate.” 

“Didn’t you say he’s kind of, uh, difficult?”

“Well that doesn’t mean he’ll always be. He just needs to hang out with some nicer people, it’ll soften him up. I don’t think he’s ever had any real friends, like ever. I think that makes it hard to base your personality off of. All he ever really had as a role model was his dad, and his dad wasn’t the most pleasant man in the world. I felt kind of bad saying bad things behind Frank’s back, but given the fact that his father literally left him when times got hard, that sounds rational to me, so yeah, his dad wasn’t a good man.”

Mikey shakes his head, “I just don’t think it’s a great idea. This place is kind of small for _two_ people let alone three.”

“Oh it’s not too bad,” Gerard discounts, “I mean we’ve had guests before. Three is usually the maximum number, but it’s not bad. Now, granted, usually they were naked, female, and in Brendon’s room, but still.”

“I didn’t really need that information,” Mikey makes a face. “Are you sure there was no one else who could take him though?”

“I mean, it’s possible. I think, well I’ve been really confused as to why Pete got out of there so quickly yesterday, but I’m sure I _could_ find someone, but-”

“But what?”

Gerard shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I feel like... I don’t know. I feel like he trusts me, or he has great potential to trust me. I feel like I’d be betraying his trust by throwing him to someone else now.”

“He’s been here a day, Gerard. Not even that long.”

“But he’s been through so much change in that day alone, I’d feel bad about it,” Gerard says, “I’ll just give it some time. See how things go, and see if he’ll be okay. When the time comes for him to go out on his own, I’ll let him.”

“That could be a year or more, Gerard!”

“Yeah, but I’ll feel good about it. I would love to know that I helped him through this, and I’d love even more for him to come out of this predicament a better man then when he entered it.”

Mikey snorts, “god, you’re such a loser. And a bit of an idealist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being optimistic!”

“In small quantities, but you lay it on a little heavy.”

“I just think that he’s, I don’t know, he’s got a lot of, like, prospective. Really he does. He’s kind of sweet as it is, if a little shy about it,” Gerard say.

“Wait, hold on. Do you, oh my god, you say that like you like him!” Mikey raises an eyebrow.

“What? No! What? No. Absolutely not. I mean, he’s kind of good looking, but no, I don’t, like, absolutely not! I don’t like him. No.”

“Are you sure? You’re really defensive. And blushing,” Mikey says, looking happy with himself.

“I’m blushing because you’re embarrassing me! I don’t think he’s, just no. Okay? I do not like him, I have known him for three years, but for those three years he has treated me pretty terribly, so no, I don’t like him,” Gerard says, sounding firm.

“Mhm, right.”

“God, you’re such a dick! His dad was the homophobe of all homophobes. Like, the dude was a bitchy fucking bigot. He was an asshole. There is no way in hell that Frank fell _that_ far from the tree,” Gerard says, though he’s not sure about that one. Frank had apparently been under the impression for a little while that Brendon was his boyfriend, and he didn’t say anything negative about that, so he won’t assume anything as of yet.

“Yeah whatever, Gerard,” Mikey says, “but seriously, you must be horny as fuck because you haven’t had a social life in three years.”

“I’m not going to have that conversation with you, Mikes.”

“Yeah whatever, but you totally need to get some.”

“Not going to have this conversation!” Gerard says putting his fingers in his ears.

“You are so immature,” Mikey says.

“I’m immature, I’m not desperate!” Gerard replies.

“Oh, you’re a little desperate.”

“I’m not!”

“You are,” Mikey says in a singsong voice.

“Maybe a little bit,” Gerard answers holding out two fingers to example it.

“You totally are,” Mikey says, “how about you take Frank out for drinks tonight?”

“Is that a good idea?”

“It can’t be a _bad_ idea, I don’t think,” he shrugs, “bring Patrick. He’s nice, hell he’d apologize for being run over by a car, maybe he’ll be a good influence for Frank.”

“You’re talking about him like Frank is an alien or something. He’s not an idiot, he’s just a little out of place.”

“Just do it. It could be fun!”

Gerard grimaces, “I don’t know, Mikes.”

“Think about it?”

“Fine,” Gerard gives up, “I’ll consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was gone, but I was sick and depressed, but now I am back!


	10. On Karma and Optimism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night out on the town.

“We’re what?” Brendon asks.

“We’re going out for drinks,” Gerard repeats.

“And what about Frank?”

“He’s coming with us,” Gerard replies.

“Why?” 

“Because Mikey suggested it, and I think it’s a good idea. We’ll take him out, he’ll have a good time, and hopefully we’ll all come out of it a little less judgmental.”

Brendon looks at him like he’s started inexplicably speaking German and says, “But I don’t want to have drinks with him.”

“Too bad,” Gerard says.

“I’m not going if he’s going,” Brendon says, crossing his arms. Gerard gives him a warning glare because Frank is once again in the other room.

“You are if you don’t want to be kicked in the balls,” Gerard says.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because you barely know him. You have said somewhere between ten and twenty words to him, and judged him based only on my biased description of him.”

“But I-”

“Brendon I am of perfect kneeing height to put you into a lot of pain, do you really want to test me right now?”

“I don’t understand you,” Brendon says turning around and stepping out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“Well I’m not wearing sweatpants to a bar, am I?” Brendon shouts back.

“Good choice!”

“Fuck off,” Brendon replies, and Gerard follows behind him, but stops when he reaches the living room. Frank is sitting on the couch like he has been all day, staring at the wall. He’s caught in some sort of reverie, and doesn’t even process Gerard looking at him.

“Frank?”

“Hm, what?” Frank says looking around like he was just hit in the head with a football. He looks surprised to find himself back in Gerard’s living room, and finally his eyes rest on Gerard standing in the corner.

“You okay?”

“What?” Frank asks, “Yeah I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Gerard notes, because he has eyes sunken deep into his head, with bags under his eyes bigger than a carryon.

“Just tired,” Frank says, waving the thought away. Frank had slept in until nearly one though, so Gerard wonders how truthful Frank is being. Then again he probably didn’t get to sleep until well past three in the morning if the noises from the living room were anything to go by.

“Well okay, do you, I mean, did you hear me and Brendon?” Gerard asks, not entirely sure whether that would be ideal or not.

“Vaguely,” Frank says, “I don’t think I want to go out.”

“Frank, you have to leave the apartment sooner or later, it’ll be fine. It’ll help Brendon especially get to know you a little better, which is something that will come in handy for you in the long run.”

“I don’t have any,” Frank splutters, “clothes.”

Gerard curses himself for forgetting that, and looks down at Frank, “uh, shit. Brendon and I don’t really have anything you can fit into.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’m a midget,” Frank says shrugging.

“Well, um,” Gerard tries to think, “Mikey is lanky but his clothes would still drown you.”

“And Mikey is?”

“My brother,” Gerard says, “and Patrick is probably too short.”

Frank gives him an expression of disbelief, “no way do you know someone shorter than me.”

“You haven’t met Patrick,” Gerard says, “how tall are you though?”

“5’6.”

Gerard considers him for a minute, “I’ll call Pete.”

Frank asks, “Who?”

“He helped make your food for the past year,” Gerard says.

“Oh the cute one.”

“The what?”

“Never mind,” Frank says urgently, turning a shade of red. Gerard tries to reason with himself that he misheard Frank, and decides he must have.

Brendon steps out of his room a moment later, and leans against the doorframe, “Do I have to go?”

“Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says, “I’ll ask him. Brendon, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“I felt like it,” Brendon shrugs, “do I have to go?”

“Do you really want me to kick you in the nards?”

“Fine,” Brendon mopes turning back into his room.

“He has a few screws loose,” Gerard explains.

“I heard that!” Brendon shouts.

“You were meant to!” Gerard calls back.

“Fuck you, Way!”

“Back at you, forehead.”

“Don’t make fun of my forehead,” Brendon says warningly.

“Well why not? It’s hard to miss,” Gerard replies, and Brendon’s door opens, he flips Gerard off and then the door closes again.

Frank sits on the sofa watching the whole exchange with confusion, then says, “He does have a fairly large forehead.”

~*~*~*~

“Patrick, do you think Frank seems okay or am I the only one who thinks he acts like a prick?” Brendon asks. They’d only just gotten there and Frank’s made an escape to the bathroom, probably to try to hide from people.

“I won’t judge a guy I just met,” Patrick says.

“Oh fuck, so I’m alone on this,” Brendon says letting his head fall to the table, “you have to at least agree with me that Gerard is turning too quickly on this. Three fucking years of being tortured by this boy and his father! Three years of hearing him complain about the Satan’s at dinner, and breakfast, and sometimes in the middle of the night! That’s not something you just forgive. You have to fucking repent for shit like that, you’re not entitled to be treated the same way as a polite person. It’s not a fucking right, it’s a privilege, and Frank has not shown me enough atonement for me to think he’s had a change of heart.”

“You have some validity, but you’re also being far too critical,” Patrick says.

“What? How! Everything I’ve ever heard about the guy has been ‘Frank is a bitch’ or ‘I want to push Frank into oncoming traffic.’”

“I never said that second one!” Gerard defends.

“But you were thinking it,” Brendon replies.

“But Brendon, god, are you even paying attention to yourself?” Patrick interjects, “you just said ‘everything I’ve ever _heard_ ’ in reference to Frank’s character. All you’ve _heard_ about him. Not what you’ve seen from him yourself, or what you’ve determined about him through your own eyes. You’re basing all you know about Frank on what Gerard’s told you.”

“So? It’s not like Gerard was lying.”

“Well you only ever heard one side of the story. You heard one side of a story that, no offense to Gerard, was probably exaggerated a bit out of anger.”

“Patrick’s right,” Gerard concedes.

“Yeah, exactly! Like, he had to suffer through weeks upon weeks, of having crap mostly come from Frank’s father. The tiniest amount that Frank might have added on to that would have probably made Gerard notice it more. He, once again no offense, probably held the two on different standards. You can’t take Gerard’s entire word for it, you’ve got to figure things out for yourself. You’ve got to give the guy a chance and dissect the person he actually is, not the stickman Gerard drew of him.”

“Are you saying I’m the bitch?” Brendon asks.

“What? No! I’m not saying anyone is anything,” Patrick says.

“He’s not saying you’re a bitch, and he’s not saying Frank’s a bitch,” Mikey explains, speaking up for the first time, “he’s saying you need to give him a chance in the same way Gerard is trying to do.”

“Yeah, if Gerard is willing to look past who he _was_ and see him for who he _is_ , then you should be able to do it,” Patrick says.

“I hate this,” Brendon says shaking his head.

“I hate you,” Gerard mocks.

“He’s coming back,” Mikey says, and Gerard looks down at the table.

Frank looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the entire world then here, but they try not to make it too awkward. It is though, and Gerard wishes he’d never agreed with Mikey.

Patrick is the only person who seems willing to initiate conversation with Frank, and Frank looks at him like he cannot believe he’s just met someone shorter than him. They’re all sitting down, but Frank still looks a little dumbstruck by that fact.

“I think he’s trying to fathom how anyone can possibly be shorter than him,” Gerard comments, and Patrick makes a face. Frank blushes and tries to hide his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It looks kind of torn up on the right sleeve, like it got stuck in a garbage disposal.

Patrick pouts, “I’m not short, I’m vertically challenged.”

“You’re in denial,” Brendon says.

“You have a giant forehead,” Mikey says.

“You only have three facial expressions,” Brendon retorts.

“At least my forehead isn’t bigger than my IQ,” Mikey shrugs.

“I-” Brendon starts, but he doesn’t have a comeback.

“Are conversations with your friends always like this?” Frank asks Gerard as Brendon and Mikey start pointing out each other’s flaws. Some of them include Brendon’s above average sized lips, and Mikey’s apparent lack of capability to laugh.

“You might be surprised just how often it turns into this,” Gerard says.

“I’ve never had a lot of friends, is it normal to insult each other?” Frank questions.

“That’s _all_ friends do. They will insult you into oblivion, but if someone else tries to insult you then they’ll mess a bitch up,” Gerard tells him.

“That sounds kind of counterintuitive.”

“The world is counterintuitive, we don’t make sense, and that’s one of the reasons that makes us all so cynical. Everyone nowadays is a cynic, but in some cases that isn’t always a bad thing. The point is that it might sound contradictive in a friendship dynamic, but we’ve sort of evolved in such a way that showing compassion for one another is taboo. I guess I’m against it, but I’m also a hypocrite so I’m included in the problem. That is what we are though. We’re a society that tells people to hide from emotions, and to keep your love or companionship of other people secret. It’s not meant in bad way, because I still care for my friends even if I call them assholes. Some part of me does have to wonder why it’s so wrong to just say that I care about the people I know, but that’s the world,” Gerard says, “I keep rambling when I talk to you, Frank. Sorry.”

“No it’s okay,” he says, looking worried for a split second, “I was... it was interesting. You have kind of a really cool outlook on life that I’m not familiar with.”

Gerard blushes and then wonders why the fuck he’s blushing. He pauses and tries to compose himself for a moment, listening in on Mikey and Brendon’s debate. Something about Brendon’s feminine hips.

“The only person I know who’s about your size is Pete, so I invited him to come tonight with any of his old clothes,” Gerard says, “there’s no guarantee that he’ll be willing to give you them, but it’s a start anyway. He’s a good person though, so I don’t doubt that he’ll have a little sympathy.”

“But if he decides he still hates me?” Frank asks.

“Well I don’t want you to only have one pair of clothes. That would suck, and be smelly. I guess, we’ll find a thrift shop or something,” Gerard shrugs, “I’m unemployed though, and Brendon makes minimum wage, so we really don’t have a lot of options.”

“Fuck,” Frank sighs, “Well I guess that karma is a real bitch.”

“But you’ll make it through this, Frank. There’s no mountain in the world that’s too tall to eventually be climbed. That’s not how the world works. It may suck, but I do believe, at the end of the day, things do get better.”

“Not everyone thinks like that,” Frank says.

“Not everyone has to think like that to wake up in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a quest to clean up my hard drive to make more space on my computer, I found my old Breaking Benjamin albums, and (obviously) I listened to them. It's been so nice experiencing them again. It's been like five years, but wow, what a throwback!


	11. I Was Trying to Think of A Kitchen Related Joke For This Chapter, But I'm Too Lazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon teaches Frank how to cook.

Gerard wakes up to talking in the kitchen. He thinks it’s the TV for a long while before he realizes that the sounds are too close. Also he’s fairly sure he hears Brendon talking, so he assumes that Brendon is not inside the TV. It’s highly improbable. 

Gerard is far too sleepy to really get up right now, and his brain doesn’t want to function at this time of the day, but it’s hard not to quench his curiosity. For one thing, Frank is sleeping in the living room, so why is Brendon being noisy out there, and how pissed off must Frank be if Brendon is trying to prevent him from getting sleep. 

Gerard makes a whimpering sound, and his joints are all aching from fatigue. He got about eight hours less sleep than he would find ideal. Most of the night was spent rolling over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, only to become too hot and need to stick one leg out of the bed. Then it would get too cold so he’d have to bring the leg back in, and it got too warm again. He really only got a few hours, and he wants to just sleep in for the rest of the day, but it’s nearly lunch, and if he doesn’t wake up soon he’s going to completely mess up his sleeping pattern. 

So Gerard unhappily pulls himself into a sitting position, and blinks his eyes until he can actually see the room in front of him. The floor is cold, but he’s too lazy to get socks, so Gerard just stands up. He runs a hand through his hair, and it gets caught in some of the tangles, but he combs his fingers through enough for it to at least look slightly more tamed than it had been a minute ago.

He doesn’t particularly care how presentable he is right now. He needs coffee before he’ll have the energy to even care about his appearance.

Gerard opens the door and steps out on stiff legs, then over to the kitchen.

He hears Brendon’s voice, and looks over at the couch but Frank’s not there.

“No you fucking idiot. If you put it that way you’re just going to have slightly charred toast.”

“Well excuse me Mr. ‘I don’t know how to spread butter on a piece of bread,’” Frank voice responds, and Gerard groans to himself. They’re fighting, and it seems like that’s going to become a regular thing with them.

“It’s not my fault that Gerard forgot to buy the spreadable stuff!” Brendon complains.

“Excuse me, _I’m_ the one who forgot?” Gerard says, entering the conversation as he enters the kitchen, “You did the grocery shopping this week, Brendon.”

He sighs when he looks up at Gerard, “Okay, well in my defense, I thought you were asleep, so I didn’t think anybody was going to call me out for lying.”

“Then don’t lie,” Gerard says.

“Yeah!” Frank adds, looking up at Brendon like he’s an idiot.

“What are you two even doing?” Gerard asks.

“He’s never made a fucking grilled cheese before!” Brendon says, “It’s like insane. He doesn’t even know how, so I’m teaching him.”

“Why?”

“Because there is no way in hell I was going to make one for him. He’s a big boy. There comes a time in every person’s life where he has to learn how to make a grilled cheese. Next I’ll be teaching him the basics of pasta.”

“Boil water, stick pasta in, wait till it’s cooked then put it in a colander. My dead hamster could do it,” Gerard says.

“Yeah but Frank didn’t even know what a whisk was,” Brendon says.

“I know what a whisk is!” Frank says defensively.

“Yeah, after I showed you,” Brendon replies.

“What’s a whisk even fucking for?” Gerard asks, walking past Brendon to grab a bowl from the cupboard. He’s not in the mood to wait however long he’d have to for them to make grilled cheese, so he just pours himself some cereal.

“You think I fucking know?” Brendon asks, “I’ve never even made cupcakes successfully.”

“That’s not true, you did make a batch of cupcakes last year,” Gerard says, “before you promptly dropped them on the floor, and gave up baking indefinitely.” 

Frank snorts, and Brendon gives him a snake eye, “watch it runt or I will throw the grilled cheese at you.”

Gerard looks over at the pan in front of the two men and rolls his eyes, “you might actually want to consider throwing it away, because I think you’ve burned it.”

Brendon looks down in surprise and then starts swearing.

“Fuck. Gerard, you distracted me!”

“Oh sure, blame him. You’re the one with the spatula,” Frank says. Brendon flips him off before frowning, and relenting to throw the botched sandwich away.

“You’re wasting food,” Gerard says through a mouthful of cereal.

“I have a butter knife and I’m not afraid to hurt you with it,” Brendon says warningly, and he holds up the knife to him. It’s not overly threatening. The knife is as blunt as you could get, so Gerard just stares at him amusedly.

Looking at the two of them, it doesn’t seem like Brendon actually hates Frank. He’s picking on the guy, sure, but no more so than he picks on everyone else. Maybe Brendon is warmer to Frank than he’d been letting on.

“Does he actually know what he’s doing or is he trying to show off his lack of skill?” Frank asks Gerard.

“Mix of both. He knows what to do, it’s just that he’s not very good at doing it. Kind of like me and Mario Kart.”

“I kick his fucking _ass_ at Mario Kart,” Brendon says proudly.

“That’s not necessarily a skill to be proud of! That just means you’ve spent more of your life staring at a television screen then the average human,” Gerard replies.

“You talk a lot of smack for a guy who has slipped on many a banana peel,” Brendon says.

“You’re a bitch though. He’s a sore loser, so to prevent himself ever losing he abuses the use of the blue shell,” Gerard says.

“You just suck,” Brendon says, deflecting the accusation.

“I hate you.”

“Well if you two are going to argue about video games, I’m going to leave the room,” Frank says, but Brendon grabs the back of his sweatshirt.

“Do you really think you’re going to get out of cooking class that easily? Sit your ass down, and let me learn you a thing,” Brendon states, and Frank frowns. Gerard thinks it’s kind of cute how Frank’s being taught by Brendon of all people. He’s also kind of surprised that Brendon is being nice to Frank. It may not seem like it, but he is. 

“You’re such a mean teacher,” Gerard laughs. “There’s no chairs in the fucking kitchen, dumbass.”

“I am not afraid to give you a detention!”

“The power is going to your head.”

Brendon frowns, “Well you’re both idiots, and it’s getting on my nerves because we all know that I’m the smartest person in the room.”

Frank and Gerard both snort at him when he says that, and Brendon looks at them with mock hurt.

“Brendon, there’s a frozen chicken in the freezer that’s smarter than you are,” Gerard says.

“I am so unappreciated,” Brendon says before starting on a second grilled cheese, but he is having quite a problem with the fact that the butter is essentially an ice block.

“It’s going to take him another fifteen minutes!” Frank exasperates.

“That’s a you problem,” Gerard says, taking his cereal and walking away.

“Is it safe to leave me here with him?” Frank asks, as Gerard steps into the living room.

“You’ll be fine. And if he burns the kitchen down, then I’m in the living room so I should be pretty much safe to whatever hell he raises,” Gerard calls back.

“What about me?”

“You need to learn what a fucking whisk is,” Brendon says.

“I don’t want to die from a kitchen fire!” Frank replies.

“You won’t die from the kitchen fire,” Brendon says, “you’ll probably die from the floor collapsing or the fumes or something.”

“This is not comforting!” Frank yells.

“Oh shut up, and butter this bread,” Brendon says, and Gerard takes a seat on the armrest of the couch, rolling his eyes.

He looks down at the paper bags that Pete had brought with him last night, and smiles to himself, because already, he’s doing a pretty good job with Frank. Brendon doesn’t seem to hate him as much as he’d thought, which is good. Brendon seemed to loosen up quite a bit towards Frank last night, so Mikey seems to be ten times smarter than Gerard had given him credit for. He didn’t think that whole bar thing would work, but it did.

Gerard thinks that mostly what it did was humanize Frank. Make him turn into a 3-D person rather than that flat one he had been made out to be.

Pete seemed all too willing to help out as well, as Gerard learned when he stopped by.

“I felt so fucking bad for him when I got to work the other day. Like, the kid was still in his pajamas and he was chasing these official bank guys all over the house, and I didn’t know what to do. It just pissed me off, and made me feel awful, so I left, because I couldn’t watch that shit. They were actively running Frank’s future, and they didn’t care, it was just stone cold indifference. I couldn’t handle it at all,” Pete had told him.

“Why didn’t you confront Frank?”

“Honestly, I thought the guy would lash out at me. It was such a delicate situation, he didn’t have any of his belongings, and he was just fucking screwed, and I’m the guy who works in the kitchen. I thought I was the last person he’d want to talk to. Gerard, I’m honestly so glad you did what you did. You’re a better guy than me. I should’ve done more, but fuck, you know how they say that hindsight is 20/20, I really should’ve done more, and I get that now,” Pete said.

“It’s cool man, I think he’s warming up to me,” Gerard replied.

“Well it’s like, I’ve got a futon if the kid needs it. You’ve got a roommate, so he can’t be too happy, and if you need me to help out, I’m totally here for you.”

“Not just yet,” Gerard said, “I’m on the trail of figuring him out, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Okay, well whatever. Whatever I can do to help. I’m kind of glad I can do this much at the very least,” Pete said, referring to the bag of clothes. 

Looking back on it, it’s kind of humbling for Gerard to see the nature of his friends. It’s kind of a cool social experiment for him. He hadn’t realized how kind the people around him are, even the more stubborn acting ones like Brendon. At the end of the day, Gerard is friends with good people, and that makes him proud of where he’s come.

He may be unemployed with a somewhat unstable roommate, and a homeless ex-rich boy living on his couch, but at least they’re not bad at heart.

Gerard listens to Brendon and Frank debating the nature of different varieties of cheeses, Frank being overly defensive about the wonder of fancy cheeses Gerard’s never heard of, and Brendon replying with Gouda puns. It makes him think that he really did make the right choice with Frank. Maybe it wasn’t just the right choice for Frank’s life, but the right choice for his life too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took far too long to update this, I'm sorry.


	12. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very strange connection.

“ _We often see ourselves with such an abstract label, which only really brushes the surface of who we are. It’s not a label that actually delves into the fundamental person, it’s the label on the mask as you see it on the shelf. A mask on the shelf, behind glass in a bland warehouse, has no sentimental value to anyone, and yet people have sentimental value to others. The reason behind that is because people aren’t marks. We are people. I’m a person, and so is everyone else. Some of us are not good at being people, and some are very good. Some are unlucky, and others are the opposite, but the point I’m trying to make is that we are not masks._

_Masks don’t change over time, not the way people do, and on the other side of the mask you see nothing or the mechanics of the whole piece. You see feathers stapled to the back, or you see a starch white backdrop for the ensemble on the other side, but they don’t ever really change. Not really. That’s what makes people different. That’s what makes us unique. We change, but most of all, the difference between a person and a mask is that a mask is just decoration. The mask is just a coat of paint on the outside, but it has no effect on the person within._

_People are not masks. We wear masks, but we are not masks. The world is a carnival. We are all wearing masks, and trying to fool each other into thinking we’re one thing when we’re not. We’re all just people wearing masks. The hard point is the line where the way you see yourself in a mask meets the way others see you. The mask should be solely for you, and not for others viewing, but unfortunately that’s not the way the world actually is._

_We all wear masks and we judge others based on the color of their mask, or the price tag on the mask, or just how pretty we find the mask. When you turn the mask over though, it’s nothing special. It’s boring, bland and it has no visual appeal, but we hold such stock in the other side that it becomes ridiculous. Why do even wear masks at all? A mask is just a layer above your skin, and why should you try to hide behind it?_

_I have a confession to make, and that is that I’m not rich nor have I ever been._

_I thought I knew what it was to be rich. I thought I knew what it was to think of myself on a different plane than others, but I see now that I was wrong._

_I am not rich, and I was wrong about the world. Not the entire world, but this one part of it, I was wrong about._

_To be rich is not to be carefree. To be rich is to be studied like a vulture by everyone around you. As it is to be human. The rich are on a pedestal the same as everyone else, only their pedestal is taller, so more people can see and more people can judge._

_I thought I was being satirical. Taking on the persona of someone I loathed so much to make fun of them, and I see that I’m the one in the wrong. What I have done is despicable. It makes me not only less than this other person, it makes me a bad person, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry to those I have offended, to those I have misinterpreted, to those I have wronged, to those I have misinformed, and to anyone in between._

_I regret my actions. I was looking at the mask, not the person beneath._

_Frank, I’m sorry.”_

It’s hard to accept an apology when you don’t know whose apology you’re receiving. It makes the obligation to feel the emotion behind the words all but void. Frank doesn’t accept it. Not even kind of. He doesn’t know who it is that has spread slander of who he is, but he knows that they are someone close to him, or close enough.

It could be Gerard.

It’s not even unlikely. Frank found this site on Gerard’s computer. What else has he said about Frank behind his back that he’s too cowardly to own up to?

Frank sits in the kitchen, staring at the laptop screen for several minutes, thinking about nothing.

He’s trying to decide whether it counts as betrayal if you were never really friends in the first place. It’s not like Gerard is Judas, he’s never made any claim to being Frank’s friend. He’s trying to at least be nicer to Frank now, but there’s still no way to qualify that as friendship.

It occurs to Frank that he’s not even positive that the blog is talking about him, but really, who else could it be? How many rich boys named Frank lost all their inheritance this week, and also happen to have an army of people who hate him? It’s very unlikely in the idea of a hypothetic implausible coincidence that it isn’t about him.

Someone hates Frank, or hated Frank, and they were too chicken to apologize for spreading calumny on the internet about him to his face. It’s hard having that weight on you whenever someone so much as looks your way, but to know that there’s people who hate him so much that they’d wrongly impersonate him, even anonymously so, is kind of horrendous. Also kind of heartbreaking.

“Frank?”

Frank doesn’t move when his name is called. He just slouches his back down, and tries to put a neutral expression on his face.

When Gerard enters the kitchen he sees his computer in front of Frank and his immediate thought is, ‘porn?’ He really hopes that isn’t the case, in any sense. He’s also not positive why that was his first instinct, but statistically it’s not unlikely.

“Why are you...?” Gerard drifts off when Frank looks up. His face looks like he’s ready to terrorize a small village out of pure outrage. It’s quite intimidating. Gerard kind of wants to step backward and pretend he never entered the kitchen, but he’s frozen to the spot by the glare Frank’s giving him.

“So, how much do you hate me, Gerard?”

“That’s a layered question?” Gerard replies, “now, or a week ago? A week ago, I’d have to think about it before helping you up from falling off a bridge, but nowadays I feel like I’d probably just help you up because it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m being serious,” Frank says.

“I am too. I mean, I don’t hate you. Not really. I guess I thought I did, but it’s been a couple of rough years for me, and I’m perfectly capable of accepting that I may have viewed you a little critically. I thought we already had this conversation?”

“What’s this?” Frank asks him, turning the laptop around to show it to Gerard. Gerard looks at Frank curiously than he allows his eyes to dart downward. He’s almost surprised to see the same blog he’s been reading for about a year on the screen.

“How did you find this?” Gerard asks. He pulls his laptop away from Frank and scans the text quickly before Frank responds.

“You bookmarked it.”

“How did you even log onto my computer?” Gerard quizzes.

“Maybe not a good idea to leave a post-it note with the password on the keyboard,” Frank says, and admittedly, he’s got a point there. Gerard’s bad at remembering things, but he could have written his password somewhere else.

Gerard frowns and checks the clock on the oven behind Frank to see that it’s nearly ten. Brendon’s already at work, because it’s Monday, so now he’s stuck in his apartment with Frank who looks incredibly mad at him. Gerard’s confused, it’s not like Frank wrote the blog. Gerard doubts even Frank is _that_ arrogant. He’s still pretty conceited, not seeming to understand that you have to tip people, or that sometimes you have to wait your turn, but he doesn’t believe the world revolves around him. Probably.

“Why are you mad at me?” Gerard asks.

“It’s slander!” Frank shouts, “completely satirical, and yet still incredibly insulting slander.”

“What do you mean?” Gerard asks.

Frank rolls his eyes, “that shit wasn’t written by a rich guy.”

Gerard looks back at Frank confused, because he’s pretty lost by that comment. He’s only ever known this specific blog to be written by someone with a lot of money, yet what Frank is saying is contradictory to that. They expressly make their opinions of poor people clear throughout several different posts.

“I’m fairly sure it was written by a rich guy,” Gerard says, looking down again, because he must not have looked closely enough a second ago.

Frank gives him a snake eye that Gerard is fairly sure was patented by Medusa and he says, “I read through some of them, and the mockery is intensively clear. It’s not written by someone like me, or like the person I used to be at least, it’s written by someone who _thinks_ they know what it’s like to be rich, but they don’t. They’re making things up, spewing garbage that no human could ever possibly think. It’s not true, Gerard. None of it. I don’t see people like that, I don’t even see you like that!”

“What do you mean ‘even me’?” Gerard retorts, also feeling a little victimized at the moment.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Frank stumbles, “bad choice of words.”

“Very bad choice of words,” Gerard remarks.

“Well anyway, it’s not true. You read this thinking you had an insight into the mind of someone who’s rich, but you’re actually just reading filth spread by someone who was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Gerard says incredulously, “of you. You’ve got to be kidding. Every human can be tempted by money, or drawn to it maliciously, but there’s still a touch of decency. Selling your morals for money, that’s inexcusable. It’s wrong on so many levels. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Did you just call me immoral?”

“I may have,” Gerard says, but then realizes what that means, and he regrets saying anything at all. He had not being trying to start a fight. That was the last thing on his mind, but he seems to have wondered into one.

“Wow Gerard,” Frank says looking anything but impressed. He looks murderous.

“I didn’t mean that,” Gerard scrambles.

“You said it,” Frank replies.

“You said ‘even me’ in a way that implies that I am below even lower class though! You tried to make me out as a million times worse than even the lowest of the low. You think that’s justifiable, but when I say something by mistake than it’s wrong? Double standard much?”

“You’re being hypocritical, Gerard. It was someone like you who has been writing that blog, and you’ve been impersonating me essentially.”

“But it wasn’t me,” Gerard replies.

“But it could have been,” Frank says.

“But It wasn’t, and I wouldn’t do that,” Gerard replies.

“Yes you would have, don’t lie. Maybe not now that you know you were being rude, but a year ago, yeah,” Frank says.

“I didn’t write anything about you!”

“But you said a lot of stuff,” Frank states coldly. “Your roommate hated me the instant he saw me, and do you know who’s to blame for that? You are. I didn’t even say a word to him before he decided who I was, and I never got the chance to prove myself. That’s all on you.”

“Brendon’s coming around!”

“He shouldn’t have had to! You shouldn’t have said anything about me to him that you wouldn’t say to me to my face,” Frank says.

“Yeah but I’ve said a lot of things to your face that you wouldn’t expect a person to say,” Gerard replies.

“And now you’re standing behind what you said when you quit the other day!” Frank says, and Gerard realizes he stepped right into that one.

“You’re manipulating my words, Frank,” Gerard hisses, “the point is not that someone you know may or may not have made fun of you on the internet-”

“May have? Read the last line, Gerard. ‘Frank, I’m sorry.’ Does that sound like a guilty conscience to you?”

“That’s not the point, Frank! Okay, so someone wrote some bad things about you. That sucks, I’m sorry that happened. It’s unfortunate, but the fact of the matter is, it wasn’t _me_. It wasn’t. No matter what way you try to spin it, I didn’t type those words. No ‘I could have’ or anything like that, because I didn’t, Frank. Yes, I’ve said and done some things I regret, but you damn well have to.”

“Well someone wrote it,” Frank says.

“And it wasn’t me. I’m sorry that it’s fake, I didn’t know. I read it to feel better about myself, okay. I’ll apologize for reading the blog at all if that’s what you want from me, but how was I to know that you didn’t think like that? They’re parodying your actions, Frank. I think, looking back at it all now, that’s plain to see, but it’s still just that. A parody. No one actually knows it’s you they’re referring to.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Frank says, “it’s the fact that they thought it was okay at all. People are always telling you not to say something on the internet that you wouldn’t say in real life, and here’s a prime example of that. It doesn’t matter that they were using a façade, because if just one person reads and believes it’s genuine, than that’s one person who thinks not only of me, but of anyone of high rank, harshly. You believed this, didn’t you, Gerard? You thought it was a real wealthy asshole talking trash, and if you believed it someone else was bound to as well. There could be dozens of people whose only basis of understanding is a jerk who didn’t even understand his own subject.”

Gerard nods, “but that doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.”

Frank sets his jaw, and his clenched fists loosen a little bit, “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” Gerard says, “you need to cool the fuck off, because I’m not you’re enemy here.”

Frank frowns, and he reevaluates the way he handled the situation. He definitely did not do a very good job at it. He messed up royally, and if Gerard weren’t such a good person he’d have been out on his ass five minutes ago.

“We have a very strange connection to each other,” Gerard sighs, walking past Frank into his kitchen.

“How so?”

“Well we keep pointing out how wrong each other are, and I honestly never thought I’d have all my flaws pointed out _by_ someone so flawed,” Gerard says.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“We’re all flawed,” Gerard shrugs, grabbing a box of cereal and eating it right out of the box, “it just so happens that both of our particular flaws clash violently with the others.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Frank asks.

“I think it just means that meeting you has somehow inexplicably made me a better person,” Gerard replies.

Frank pauses and evaluates Gerard slouched against the counter. He looks pretty slack considering they had very nearly ripped each other’s throats out only a minute ago. He’s also trying to figure out at what point the anger dissolved, and turned to silence. It has now, the redness of fury has dissipated leaving only a strange calm. The only noise is coming from Gerard’s hands scrambling at the bottom of the cereal box, and then the not-so-graceful thumping of cereal as the excess overflow in his handfuls spills onto the floor.

“Me too,” Frank sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile. Sorry about that.


	13. Interview (Not With A Vampire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to update. Forgive me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the anon on Tumblr who asked for this. Sorry it took so long.

“But what if-”

“We went over all the basics you need, you’ll do fine,” Gerard says.

“But I have no experience!”

“Everyone has to start somewhere. No one has experience at their first job,” Gerard assures.

Frank groans, “But what if I don’t get the job.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Gerard says, “you’re probably not. Seriously, you’re going to have like twenty interviews before you get a job.”

“That’s not an encouraging thing to say!”

Gerard shrugs, “well maybe it’s not the most encouraging thing, but it’s the truth.”

“He’s going to absolutely fail, and no one will ever hire him,” Brendon says.

“Thank you for the input, Brendon. Go chop your toes off,” Gerard says.

“I’m just trying to help,” He says, smiling insipidly.

“No you’re not. You’re trying to psych him out. Need I remind you that _you’re_ the one who said he’s got to get a job?”

“Well he does need to get a job. I am not paying for my rent, as well as his ass on my couch every night. I paid for half of that couch, and there’s a troll living on it,” Brendon says.

“I thought you were warming up to him?”

“I am. This is just how I show affection,” Brendon says and then he raises his eyebrows like he wants someone to dare him to prove it.

“This is why you don’t have a girlfriend,” Gerard says.

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m just too fantastic and it’s intimidating. Also I have an annoying roommate who scares all the girls away,” Brendon replies.

“ _I_ scare _them_? Try the other way around,” Gerard says, “You know how terrifying it is to wake up with a naked female stranger in your bathroom at seven in the morning?”

“That’s happened like twice,” Brendon replies looking unimpressed.

“Twice is enough,” Gerard replies, and shudders slightly, “I don’t want to see that when I just woke up, it’s gross.”

“ _You’re_ gross.”

“Your face is gross,” Gerard retorts, which is not very original, but it’s too early to come up with creative insults. Maybe in a few hours he’ll be able to tell Brendon he’s got weedy maggot-breath, but right now he just doesn’t have the spirit nor the imagination.

“Can we get back to my interview?” Frank asks.

“What? Oh yeah,” Gerard says and turns back to look at Frank who’s sitting at the counter with an expression like he just witnessed wild animals dance in a conga line.

“What’s the interview for?” Brendon asks. “If it’s a better paying job than mine than I don’t want you to audition for it.”

“Audition?” Gerard asks, “What the fuck do you mean by audition? Is Frank going to go up there and introduce himself as Danny Zuko?”

“I don’t know the proper term, so I went with the next best thing,” Brendon shrugs.

“You’re such an idiot,” Gerard shakes his head despairingly, “the proper word is just interview.”

“Really? That’s so boring. They should call it the intensive future-deciding cross-examination. It’s much more extreme sounding.”

“It’s a position at a banking firm, dumbass,” Gerard says, answering Brendon’s question after getting sidetracked.

“Ugh, that sounds tedious. What experience does he have in banking?”

Gerard rolls his eyes, “Well it’s not a perfect fit, but it’s his first interview ever, so we picked something that it doesn’t really matter too much if he bombs.”

“Which he will,” Brendon assures.

“Right, getting back to your interview,” Gerard says, pulling himself out of Brendon’s distraction once again, “I think that you ought to steer clear of the whole daddy being a millionaire topic. I can tell you with some certainty, and quite a bit of former practice, that most people associate heirs as douchebags.”

“Not to sound rude but it also looks like something crawled up your ass,” Brendon says, “you look way too on edge. Now normally the cure for that would be a shot of straight vodka, but you really shouldn’t go about hitting the taps this early in the morning.”

“No you really shouldn’t,” Gerard says, “but I kind of agree with him there. You are way too on edge. Relax a little bit.”

Frank’s face goes from anxious to nauseous in a matter of seconds, like he actually thinks that made him look less terrified.

“Jesus fuck, you’re a wreck,” Gerard says and he places his hands on Frank’s shoulders. “Ease up a little will you? Your shoulders look like they’re on puppet strings.”

Frank frowns, and tries to loosen himself up a little bit, but he still looks like he has a wedgie. Gerard’s fingers brush over his shoulders for maybe a little bit longer than necessary, but he pulls them away when Frank looks back at him with his big doe eyes. His eyes are really hard not to get lost in, and Gerard finds himself almost hypnotized by the look Frank’s giving him.

“What?” Frank asks, and Gerard realizes he’s staring with his mouth open a little bit. If he keeps that up he’ll be drooling.

“Nothing,” Gerard says, “you look a little better, but it still looks like you’re trying too hard.”

“Well I _am_ trying too hard!” Frank says. I’m petrified. I’ve never had a job interview before.”

“Have you seen Interview With A Vampire, because that has nothing to do with job interviews, but it does have vampires?” Brendon says.

“So does Twilight.”

“Yeah, but Twilight is a sexist piece of horseshit. Interview With A Vampire has Tom Cruise.”

“Touché,” Gerard replies, “but this is about Frank’s interview. Oh my god, you look even tenser than you were a minute ago!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m scared.”

“That’s obvious. Why are you so scared though?”

“I guess it’s just, I mean, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I was rich and now I’m... who am I if I’m not rich?”

“You’re Frank,” Gerard says, “you’re a little arrogant, a tad bit presumptuous, a touch pessimistic, and you maybe have a little bit of a Napoleon Complex, but you’re not a bad person. You’re caring, and you’re dedicated. I think you’re hardworking, and smart as well.”

“I’m not smart,” Frank shakes his head, “I’m average.”

“Well that would probably be true if most of the earth’s population wasn’t made up of idiots, but honestly Frank, most people are pretty dumb. Comparatively, you’re fairly smart.”

“Gross,” Brendon says.

“You’re definitely smarter than Brendon,” Gerard says.

“Hey! I’m right here.”

“That’s why I said it,” Gerard says.

“Since when did you start liking Frank better than me? I’m your roommate. I’m cuter! I have a nicer ass,” Brendon says.

“We’re going to pretend he’s not there at all,” Gerard says turning back to look at Frank. “Just, I don’t know. What do people say in this kind of situation?”

“Be yourself,” Brendon says blandly, “You’ll do fine. Make nice with the other kids. Don’t spill your juice box. Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times. Make sure to tie your shoes. Look both ways before crossing the street. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Never step under a ladder. Break a leg.”

“Yes, thank you, Brendon, for going over all the basic rules of life,” Gerard says.

“I’m here to help,” Brendon says, grabbing his mug and toasting the air in front of him. He has a grin like he knows he’s being a snarky bastard and he’s proud of it. That’s probably what the grin actually means when Gerard thinks about it.

“Just go now before Brendon says something even stupider than normal,” Gerard says to Frank.

“You should keep a log of it,” Frank suggests.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Think of all the trees I’d kill if I wrote down every stupid thing Brendon said. Deforestation would go up seventy percent,” Gerard says.

“I am so unappreciated,” Brendon says.

“Hey Gerard, would you come with me?” Frank ask, and then turns a pink color so he ducks his head. Frank has discovered a new fascination in his shoelaces. 

“Why do you need me to come with?” Gerard asks.

“Moral support,” He replies quietly, “I mean you don’t have to, I just... sorry.”

Brendon walks up behind Gerard and whispers in his ear, intentionally loud enough for Frank to hear, “he wants you to hold his hand.”

“Shut up, Brendon,” Gerard and Frank say in unison. They lock eyes for a fraction of a second, before quickly turning to look away.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll come with you,” Gerard replies, trying to act casual, even though he doesn’t know why the invitation sounds so uncomfortable.

“No you don’t have to, I mean you probably have things to do, and I’m totally just paranoid,” Frank says.

“No it’s fine, Frank. I’m not doing anything, I don’t have anything all day. It’s fine,” Gerard replies.

“Yeah, Frank, it’s fine,” Brendon says overzealously with a wave of his hand. He looks like one of those straight guys pretending to be a homosexual, and ending up just pissing everybody off. Though if we’re going to be honest Brendon is one of the gayest straight men on the planet.

“I hate you more than you could ever know, Brendon,” Gerard says, pushing him away. He smells oddly like apples, and it’s weirding Gerard out.

“You two ought to be going, Frank’s interview is in just over an hour,” Brendon says.

“Oh shit,” Gerard says checking his watch. “Yeah, you should really be going. Or I mean, _we_.”

Things just became awkward and Brendon is loving it. He’s got a smile on his face like Christmas came early, and Gerard is holding back the urge to stab him repeatedly.

“Uh, okay, well let’s go then,” Gerard says.

“Gerard, are you forgetting something?” Brendon asks, with a gloating expression.

Gerard looks down, realizes he’s wearing pajama pants with the Batman emblem stitched all over, and then turns around and out the other doorway. About a minute later, he returns with real pants, and does anything to not make eye contact with either of the people in the kitchen. He then walks past Frank through the other door without a word. People think Gerard gives the silent treatment a lot, but usually he just keeps his mouth shut if he’s worried about saying something stupid.

“Have fun,” Brendon says bringing his mug back up to his face. He looks like a Bond villain with his smug grin, and narrowed eyebrows. Frank is a little bit worried that he’s about to start plotting to take over the world, so he backs out of the kitchen to follow Gerard.

“Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times!” Brendon shouts after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No but seriously, Brendon does have a nice ass.


	14. Like No One Ever Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of my personal favorite references in this chapter.

“How’d it go?” Gerard asks.

“I have no idea. I don’t have any context to compare it with,” Frank replies.

“You okay?”

“No not particularly,” Frank says. Gerard can pretty much tell that Frank isn’t doing too well, he looks shaky to all hell, and pallid in skin tone. It’s his first job interview so it’s not completely ridiculous that he’s so anxious. Though Gerard is glad they didn’t pick a job he really wanted to start out with, because going by the state of him, Frank’s not going to be getting this job.

“Yeah I can see that,” Gerard nods, standing up. The office that Frank’s interview is held in is rather dismal. It’s the kind of place creativity and aspiration go to die a slow painful death. Frank should be glad he didn’t get a job here, he just doesn’t know that yet. The whole building reeks of dereliction.

“You don’t want to work here anyway,” Gerard says, standing up and looking around.

“Why do you say that?”

“This place makes my skin crawl,” Gerard shrugs, “there’s just no color in here. The walls are white, the floor is grey, the clocks are analog, and the windows are facing parking lots.”

“Is that bad?”

Gerard shrugs, “I don’t want to make any harsh judgments, but employees that work in places like these are the ones you find hanging in their closets by their off-grey neckties.”

“So not good?”

“Very very not good,” Gerard answers, “Don’t worry, though. We’ll find you a job.”

“Okay, but what then?” Frank asks. They walk down a hall that seems to be getting narrower and narrower as they walk along it like they’re in a nightmare. They might actually be, this place is suffocating.

“Well then you go to work every morning at seven, leave everyday at about six, eat cheap food that has no flavor, and go to bed in 300 thread count sheets.”

“You’re missing the part in between where I have to find an apartment.”

“That’s not going to happen for a long time,” Gerard says. “You have absolutely nothing to your name. Basically, you have whatever pennies you find on the sidewalk. That is how much money you have. Until we find you a job, that’s all you’re going to have. Once you find a job, you save up for a long time, and then probably find yourself a roommate and move out of my home.”

“You’re too good a person, Gerard. Way too good. You shouldn’t be so nice to me, even if it’s in a critical way.” 

“I threw your PlayStation down a flight of stairs.”

Frank snorts, “Yeah you did do that. I was a prick that day.”

“You’re still a prick,” Gerard shrugs, “you’re just not as big of a prick.”

“Thanks,” Frank nods. They step out of the building and Gerard can breathe freely for the first time in over an hour. Most of Frank’s interview took place in the waiting room while they waited for it to start.

“So tell me, Frank,” Gerard asks, “was this whole bratty little boy character a façade to impress your father with how much of an asshole you were, or are you just a bratty little boy who never grew up?”

“That’s such a territorial question, like you’re trying to back me into a wall,” Frank says. “I’ve been accustomed to a certain way of behaving my whole life. A certain way or walking, of talking, or more accurately, not talking. I was never really allowed to talk to my dad, because whatever I said was unimportant or stupid. Usually both. We are our temperament aren’t we? Our environment is what decides that. The way we’re taught, the way we grow up, that’s who we become. No one is all good or all bad. I like to think I’m a good person who puts his foot in his mouth every time he speaks, but I’m not a good person in the way that I believe myself to be kind. I just don’t see myself as bad.”

“Then answer another question for me,” Gerard says, stopping on the sidewalk to look at him intently, “why did you really ask me to come with you today?”

“I was nervous,” Frank says, turning a shade of pink.

“No, that’s not a complete answer. I’m asking you an essay question, you’ve got to give me an appropriate answer. Sure, nervousness might have played a role in it, but you could’ve asked Brendon, or you could have sucked it up and done this by yourself.”

“Brendon kind of scares me. Besides he had to work.”

“Valid point, but still.”

“I just... Gerard, I don’t know that I’m ever going to be able to say sorry enough for what I’ve done to you. I have to try to rewrite my whole life, starting from a new square and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. You are literally all I have right now. I would be living in a cardboard box if it weren’t for you, and I want to be able to show you that I’m trying. Really, I am. I just don’t know what I’m trying to _do_ quite yet,” Frank states. Gerard nods and then starts walking again. Frank catches up after a second of being a little surprised by Gerard’s flat response.

“So you’re trying to impress me?” Gerard asks.

“Not per se. I’m trying to not let you down,” Frank says, “I mean, you have faith in me that I’m going to be able to get a job, when even my own father didn’t think that highly of me.”

“Your dad was a jerk,” Gerard says, “your dad didn’t file his own tax returns on what was quite possibly a secret double life he was leading behind your back, and he didn’t give a shit about you.”

“My worst fear is that I’m going to end up like him,” Frank confesses. Gerard turns to look at Frank when he says that, interested in how he came to that conclusion, or when he came to it.

“Go on,” Gerard says when Frank doesn’t expand on his sentence.

“I don’t want to end up like him. That sounds terrifying. I don’t want to be infamous for mistreating people in third world countries. My father didn’t even hide the fact that he used sweatshops, there’s a million articles written about what a jerk he was. Man, he was just... what a fucking douchebag. I don’t wanna be like him. I would hate that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Like, he’s just such an awful person. He abandoned me the first time in my life when I actually needed him, he _abandoned_ me, and I could never be like that. Then again, if I ever did turn out like him I’d be too busy being in love with myself to notice it happened.”

“So what do you want to be then?”

Frank frowns and shrugs, not saying anything for a long moment before he gets a smile and says, “I wanna be the very best. Like no one ever was.”

Gerard snorts, “So you’re a massive dork then.”

“Gerard, I live on your couch, I can literally see your DVD collection a foot away from where my head is every night. You want to call me a dork, fine, but take that up with the extended editions you have of Star Wars and Lord of the Rings,” Frank responds.

“I’ve never denied that status though. Besides, you should see my comic book collection.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I don’t know if I trust you that much yet,” Gerard shrugs.

“With a comic book collection?” Frank asks, eyes narrowed at him.

“You have no idea how much value I put on superheroes.”

“Evidently not.”

Gerard would deny it if anyone asked him, and he’s good enough at hiding it so it’s not likely that anyone’s going to ask him in the first place, but he finds Frank attractive. Aesthetically. And maybe as a person too. He won’t own up to that though. He won’t own up to either, but _especially_ the fact that he kind of likes Frank despite the fact that he’s a bit of a jerk. 

Maybe it’s just because Frank really is a smart guy with a really good brain between his ears. Also a nice face between his ears, but that’s beside the point.

He likes the kid. So what? Frank needs his help and he’s got those puppy dog eyes which Gerard can’t believe he never noticed. They’re so big and brown and gorgeous.

When Gerard had invited Frank to live with him, liking him had not been part of the plan. The plan had been trying not to kill Frank or rip his hair out. He was trying to convince himself not to fantasize about kicking Frank’s severed head around, he never thought he’d like the guy. Gross. But then...

He reasons with himself that Frank only ever really showed him one side of his personality. He was never the real Frank, the one that Gerard’s getting to know. Gerard knows that that was still Frank, still the same person, but no one is just transparent. Gerard had thought that he knew who Frank was and that was his first mistake. He’s not the person Gerard thought, and he was wrong.

Gerard’s not really the person that Frank thought he was either. He always disregarded Gerard, thought he was an idiot who got by on his looks. Probably because he’d never had a proper conversation with the guy. He’s still somewhat of an idiot to Frank, but that’s mostly socially, he’s not an actual idiot. Well maybe a little bit. In an endearing way.

Frank’s told himself that he’s not allowed to like Gerard though. Gerard is the guy who’s nice enough to let him stay on his couch. Besides, he’s probably not gay. Frank’s not good at detecting these things. He is very bad at perceiving subtleties. You’ve got to smack him in the face if you’re trying to make a point.

That’s not the point though, Frank had told himself not to like Gerard, because that is crossing the line big time. He tells himself not to like Gerard that is, but that doesn’t mean he’s very good at listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still trying to update these less popular fics, but I'm sorry it's taking so long.


End file.
